


The Favor

by VenetaPsi



Series: To Speak of the Members of the Arctic Syndicate [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dream team smp
Genre: After the 6th, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anarchy, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Antarctic Empire, Arctic Syndicate, BAMF Niki | Nihachu, Best Friends, Betrayal, Blood Brothers, Character Study, Child Soldiers, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Enderman Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone fucking has PTSD, Everyone is an unreliable narrator, Fights, Found Family, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Good Friend Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Happy Ending, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, I am an everyone apologist, Injury, Insane Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Kidnapping, L'manberg is gone crabrave, Manipulation, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Canon Compliant, Only Phil Wilbur and Fundy are family, Pandora's Vault, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Philza and Technoblade are best friends this is really important, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potato war, Potato war references, Potions, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Seriously man has lost it, Set Before Season 2 Finale, Technoblade Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade and Phil are Best Friends, Technoblade is not family, Technoblade's Chat, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Temporary Character Death, The Syndicate - Freeform, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This is not an anti tommy fic dw, Toby Smith | Tubbo Has PTSD, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), Tommyinnit is NOT Philza's son, Tommyinnit is not family, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Unreliable Narrator, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot is Phil's Son, neither techno or phil have met tommy before they came to this server, technoblade never dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28901823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: A life debt was something so dangerous, something that twisted his cold dead heart and made him feel so annoyingly small. It made him feel like he owed something big, and Techno despised guilt. Guilt was a weakness he couldn’t afford when his values lost him loyalties and had him fighting against the world. Guilt and anger rested exactly side by side in his limited pool of understandable emotions. Guilt made him leave himself vulnerable.Technoblade owed Dream a favor.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu & Phil Watson, Niki | Nihachu & Technoblade, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, im a squid kid & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: To Speak of the Members of the Arctic Syndicate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181765
Comments: 356
Kudos: 1218
Collections: Long Fics to Binge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post Fall of L'manberg (Jan 6th)  
> Pre Season 2 Finale (Jan 20th)  
> Time periods between events are extended to a more realistic amount
> 
> I am an everyone apologist, so expect a lot of psychoanalyzing of all characters.  
> All characters are Unreliable Narrators
> 
> Canon? What canon

The small mountain on the outskirts of the SMP territory was familiar as Techno waded out of the cold ocean shallows, wiping a dripping strand of hair from his eyes and clutching his trident in his free hand. It was the same small, idyllic, dramatic meeting place he’d met Dream twice prior, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised.

The warrior hummed contemplatively as he flicked his wrist, stepping up onto the sandy beach. A warmth flooded his body; comforting and smooth as a wave- a ripple of heat from deep within his core that raised the temperature of his skin and drove any dampness from his hair and clothes that remained from the watery trip. 

Normally he wouldn’t bother, not caring for the small pit of sleepiness the action always left behind. But he was going to meet Dream after all; the most dramatic man that Techno knew. He could concede this for the sake of appearances. 

Now dry to satisfaction, Technoblade slipped the trident into its rightful sling on his back, looking up at the mountain- a large, slightly cliffy hill if he was making a point to be accurate- and considered the best way to climb it. A mutual love for showmanship warred with laziness in his stomach as he sighed, grabbed a rock outcropping, and began to climb. Dream’s theatrics usually resulted in a need to climb something, and Techno wasn’t sure if that was admirable or annoying. 

If he ever made an impressive entrance or needed some wild meeting place- it was going to be on ground level. Or underground, Techno silently vowed, jamming a steel toed boot between two boulders and hoisting himself further up the small cliff side. After all, climbing in silence was quite boring. Nothing attention grabbing about five minutes of pausing to search for the next foothold or the occasional annoyed grunt. No, the hidden igloo leading to the Syndicate meeting room was far superior. 

His mind drifted, as it always did. Techno considered himself a very suspicious man. Maybe paranoid was a more accurate word. He did- in fact- think of every situation as more or less a potential threat. Now most of the time, that ‘threat’ he’d imagined and worried as being genuine turned out to be laughable at best. Technoblade was the definition of  _ overprepared _ . But it had kept him alive this long, and he was proud of how untouchable a bit of planning made him. 

This situation was odd, Techno decided as he swung himself up onto another ledge and glanced upwards. He was getting close now- he could see Dream’s small figure further up, cross legged in the grass, staring idly out to sea. No weapons in sight beside the sword sheathed at his hip. Techno relaxed a tiny bit. He’d be the first to admit- well no, that was definitely a lie. He’d be the  _ last _ to admit it, but he was concerned. Dream’s favor haunted him at night. Technoblade  _ detested _ being in debt. He was a man of ideals; followed his own moral code to the end of the earth. And despite holding his values in higher regard than friendships, Techno believed in giving what was owed. 

And he owed his life to Dream. 

That alone made his stomach twist. Not that it was Dream- the man was quite frankly, a great ally. Powerful, with similar goals, quick to offer supplies and plans and to carry his own weight. Not a friend, though. Techno didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him, which was probably only a few feet. Regardless- Techno didn’t want to ever owe his life to  _ anyone. _

Not even Phil. 

A life debt was something so dangerous, something that twisted his cold dead heart and made him feel so  _ annoyingly _ small. It made him feel like he owed something big, and Techno despised guilt. Guilt was a weakness he couldn’t afford when his values lost him loyalties and had him fighting against the world. Guilt and anger rested exactly side by side in his limited pool of understandable emotions. Guilt made him leave himself vulnerable. 

_ Guilt was looking at Phil on one life and handing over a totem-  _ infinitely _ valuable, an entire life! And still forcing it into his hands.  _

__ _ Guilt was looking at Tommy in torn clothes, with darkened eyes and a bitter, cracking smile and fury in his clenched fists and offering a partnership.  _

__ _ Guilt was looking at a friendless ghost, too far gone to notice hurt and yet unfailingly optimistic and sighing and speaking back in turn. Offering fondness Techno had felt for the man that used to be.  _

_ (“That’s great Ghostbur.” exasperated despite himself, instead of furious like he should be. “I’m going to die, Ghostbur.” He leaned tiredly against cold iron bars, and his cold dead heart smiled despite itself when Ghostbur’s bright grin damped to something almost like concern; an uncertain puppy confusion.) _

Techno would be the first to admit he’d expected Dream’s favor to involve Tommy. He had known, back in that showdown before the nether portal- __

_ “UUUUH- Take some gaps, take some gaps!” Tommy’s eyes were blown wide as he unnecessarily shoved the golden fruit into Techno’s hand. Techno quirked a lip, amused despite the masked man who stood threateningly before them, despite the slightly more than mildly concerning situation. _

He’d known Dream wouldn’t take him up on the ‘offer’ to cash in the favor. In fact, looking back on it- he’d really been threatening the man, hadn’t he? Techno winced as his shoulder popped and he raised himself up another few feet, seeking out another handhold. That probably hadn’t been wise, at the time. It had been worth it though, he’d decided. For Tommy.

Techno decided he didn’t have the time, or want, to think deeply about Tommy right now. L’manberg was gone, and Tommy had made his choice. Techno needed to stop dwelling on the stupid teenager. 

He pulled his thoughts back on track. He’d expected Dream’s favor to have something to do with turning Tommy over. He was more than aware that for  _ some reason, _ Dream seemed to obsess over the kid. To Techno, it seemed like an unnecessary waste of time and effort, to try so hard to thwart one kid. Really- he didn’t understand Dream’s game at all. The man had the majority of the server under his thumb and yet seemed to do nothing but try to keep one random, lanky teen out of the country that didn’t particularly like Tommy anyways. 

It didn’t seem like the most strategic usage of time and resources. 

_ It didn’t quite sit right with him either. Perhap if it had been an adult Dream had been terrorizing, Techno wouldn’t have cared. But Tommy was young. Disturbingly young. Hadn’t the child soldiers been through quite enough already? _

Technoblade had been gearing himself up to have to choose. Choose between the favor and Tommy, choose between his values and ideals- and a relationship. 

_ Like always,  _ something in him whispered, and Techno suppressed a wince. 

It kept him up at night, on the rare occasion he actually tried to get some sleep. Tommy was a liability at worst. A rather shit partner at best. Rude, loud, stole his stuff, left his doors open, broke his things. Gave away their positions, caused a ruckus, wouldn’t  _ shut up  _ about the disks and was prone to very inconveniently timed bouts of what Techno could only say were probably PTSD episodes. 

Not a very advantageous ally. And Dream was everything Tommy was not. 

But Tommy had been a friend, and those were so very rare. 

Technoblade did not like moral dilemmas. 

But that was all in the past now, he gladly decided as he finally-  _ finally  _ pulled himself up the final little lip of the small mountain and straightened, brushing the dirt from his sore hands off on the thighs of his pants, lifting his head against the strong ocean breeze to see Dream’s back. Tommy was long gone with his Tubbo, the favor hadn’t been called in at the time, and Techno was back to only worrying about his goals and Phil. As it should be. 

“Hello,” Dream said calmly, not turning his head. Techno huffed a tiny laugh at the theatrics and made his way across the snowy, grassy mountain top, watching Dream roll his shoulders, crack his neck and climb to his feet. 

The Admin looked as he always did- which was to say an odd mix between a fantasy warlord from Techno’s novels- and homeless. 

Dream was dressed for camouflage, as always. An outfit of browns and greens; sturdy lace up leather boots (That Techno wasn’t jealous of) and most of his top disguised by the poncho-y cloak just a few shades too light to be described as moss, that draped over his shoulders, arms and front; trailed extra long in the back like a flowing cape and draped over his head in a hood, leaving only a few whispers of dirty blonde hair to peek out above the mask. 

He looked more like someone who might be hermitting in the woods then a politician, or warrior, and Techno knew Dream was both. 

“Hullo,” Techno greeted back when their eyes finally met- or didn’t, really, because of the mask, but Dream’s head had tilted to imply eye contact and that was good enough for the piglin. “You quite like this mountain, don’t you? Just couldn’t pick a place that didn’ involve half an hour of climbing?”

_ Techno stared in amazement at the armful of valuables Dream was offering him. Netherite, diamonds-  _ A god apple. _ Suspicion warred with gratitude as Techno slipped the invaluable resources into his bag, more than a little thrown by the unwarranted generosity. If Dream wanted to buy his hand in an alliance, he was certainly on the right path. Their first meeting and  _ this _ was what the Admin offered already?  _

“Where would be the fun in that?” Dream laughed like they were old friends. “I think the climb is worth it for this view when we talk.” The man threw a gloved hand out towards the stretch of brilliantly blue sea behind him, the nearly completed sunrise still throwing flecks of gold and faded orange into the pale blue sky. It was quite pretty, Techno would admit. 

“Both times I’ve come here before, you’ve given me something,” Techno quirked an eyebrow curiously, and Dream smiled.

_ “Here.”  _

_ Curiously, Techno accepted the paper- the map, he realized, from Dream’s hand. His eyes swept across the pen sketched landscape, zeroing in on the area marked with a rough circle.  _

_ ‘Woodland Mansion’ _

_ Techno’s heart skipped a beat, and his eyes snapped up. Dream grinned widely at him.  _

_ “Heard you were totem searching during raids,” he laughed. “The evokers don’t leave the mansions, not in these lands. You won’t find any with the pillagers. But here…” He trailed off with a small shrug.  _

_ “This is...this is quite acceptable,” Techno said, eyes trailing back down to the map despite himself. Totems. God he wanted them. “What do you want in return?” _

_ Dream waved him away, posture uncaring. “Oh no- this is a gift. I’ve heard rumors there’s...a bounty, on your head. That people might be after it. I don’t want you to die, Techno.” _

_ “How sweet,” Techno shot back sarcastically, tucking the map away securely at his side. But there was no heat, and Dream just laughed.  _

“That is true,” The Admin declared, motioning Techno a step closer, the sound of the wind lessening as their distance decreased. “And I have something for you again, actually.”

“No hard feelings about the- about Tommy?” Techno asked suspiciously, tilting his head. Though he and Dream had really been nothing but amicable, Techno knew they had never truly had mutual allies. Dream had hated Wilbur, Tommy. 

“The Tommy thing fixed itself,” Dream replied with a small shrug, head tilting to imply he was staring off into the distance. “I’m slightly bitter you lied.”

“Sorry,” Techno said unapologetically. “Beneficial at the time.” 

“That didn’t turn out so well in the end,” Dream said mildly, and ow. Okay. Didn’t need to rub salt in that still annoyingly open wound. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” Techno’s voice went frigid, and far more bitter than he intended. 

“Oh,” Dream replied, head moving back to face Techno completely, posture softening slightly. “I didn’t mean that as passive aggressively as it sounded.” He sounded annoyingly genuine, and Techno did  _ not _ come here to have a heart to heart with the server Admin over the teenager’s betrayal. This was getting dangerously close to talking about emotions and Techno wasn’t sure he was to that level of friendship with  _ anyone, _ least of all Dream.

“Are we done talking about Tommy?” Techno sighed instead of acknowledging the half-apology, shifting uncomfortably. Dream took pity on him and nodded. 

“Yes- yes. Moving on from him. I think our business together is...drawing to an end? You seem like a man who likes mutual goals and with L’manberg gone- we’ve done what we needed to do.”

Techno paused, then nodded.

“That’s true,” He admitted. 

“Let's cut to the chase,” Dream sighed, a hand rising to scratch at his head idly through the fabric of his hood. “That favor. I’m guessing you don’t like debt, Technoblade.”

Techno hummed noncommittally, not about to admit weakness. A bubble of thoroughly mixed curiosity and concern swirled up his gut and settled in his chest. That familiar blend of anticipation and also dread. “Are you cashing that in?”

“Yes,” Dream nodded, smiling faintly. “And then we both can move on from this, go about our own business.”

“A clean slate. Neither of us will owe the other anything, after this,” Techno said- a demand disguised as a slightly leading question. Dream nodded firmly, agreement etched into the determined tilt of his lips. He was a surprisingly emotive man. 

“Neither of us will owe the other anything,” Dream echoed. “It has been a pleasure, Technoblade. Destroying L’manberg with you.”

“That was fun,” Techno chuckled, swiping away a strand of hair that had been dragged free by the sharp breeze. “Hit me up if you have any other governments to abolish.” 

Dream smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The green-clothed man stretched and seemed to fight back a yawn before he shuffled his feet, shifting from relatively confident to something that seemed slightly...embarrassed. Huh. Techno’s eyes bored into Dream, curiosity peaked. It was perhaps the most uncertain he’d even seen the Admin look. 

“So about that favor,” Dream chuckled, lips quirked. “This is, ah...well, anticlimactic, I supposed. I’ve created a lot of build up about this.” 

“You have,” Techno agreed, resting a hand idly on the sword at his hip. It quite genuinely wasn’t meant as a threat- it was for comfort if anything. Techno didn’t like having to read people on a good day, and he was thoroughly confused. This mysterious meeting, the favor finally being breached, Dream’s odd, uncharacteristically…timid behavior.

It was all strange, and intriguing, and running his fingers over the worn leather of his sword brought a sense of grounding calm. 

“Well...ah- well, I need you to be a guinea pig for me, Technoblade.”

A beat of silence, then two.

“....uh. What?” Techno said dumbly, blinking at the other man. “Like- literally? Cause I can’t shapeshift, man. Maybe ask the orange fox kid-”

“No, no,” Dream laughed, hand going to his hip. He had a belt of potions at all times- all of the people on the server prepared for combat did. Techno himself had a bag of them slung across his back. The bottle Dream lifted wasn’t a color Techno immediately recognized, and the piglin raised a curious eyebrow. If he knew anything, it was potions- he brewed them religiously. It was a dark, dull, blueish grey- something that would immediately put Techno on edge as perhaps being Weakness- but the color didn’t quite fit. The potion lacked saturation, bleached of hue. 

“...what is that?” Techno asked, curiosity bleeding into his voice. 

“This,” Dream said, and he sounded almost  _ proud- _ “Is my creation.” The man’s smile turned more wide and genuine than perhaps Techno had ever seen. He seemed almost hyper, vibrating with energy. 

“I’ve never seen a color like that,” Techno admitted, and Dream offered the bottle. After a second, Techno reached out, accepted it. The glass was cool to the touch- the potion wasn’t warm like Strength, or bubbling like a Potion of the Turtle Master. Nor did it faintly swirl as Slow Falling did. The potion was perfectly still, like completely stagnant water; that same deep, unsaturated blue. It was thoroughly unrecognizable. “Is this...a new potion?” 

“You have  _ no _ idea how long that took!” Dream laughed, sounding  _ elated _ . He clapped his hands together once, clasped in front of him. “The trial and error- oh my god.” 

“You made a new potion,” Techno repeated, deadpan. Stunned as he stared deep into the Admin’s white mask. “How- what- I thought people had already experimented to the max.” 

“I did,” Dream nodded cheerily, ignoring the second comment, smile wide and toothy and the man seemed to nearly vibrate. Technoblade stared at the Admin, thoroughly shocked to see him display so much  _ emotion. _ So much excitement. “And I want to test it on you.”

“Ummm...nahhh,” Techno replied doubtfully, staring at the bottle in his hand like it might bite him. “This looks like some sort of weird, unshiny oil, man. I don’t wanna drink your experiment. That doesn’t sound beneficial to my extended health. Like at all.”

“Oh come on,” Dream’s lips fell into a pout. “Don’t think I just gave you something straight off the brewing stand. It isn’t going to poison you, I tested it on myself enough to make sure of that. The last thing I want is you dead.”

“Gee, thanks.” Techno snorted, studying the bottle once more, swirling it idly with small circles of his wrist. “I’m glad this potion won’t  _ kill _ me. What is it, anyways?”

“I haven’t named it,” Dream rubbed at his hood again, voice sheepish. “It has potential use in combat- that’s why I’m having you use it, Techno. I can try it on myself as much as I want, but I need a bigger sample pool and not only do you owe me a favor- you’re a warrior. Combat is your middle name.” 

“It’s not, actually. I don’t have a middle name,” Techno blurted absently, looking down at the bottle. “Dream, you have to realize how disbelievable this is. You have a favor. From me. One you wanted to hold onto so bad you didn’t even use it to get Tommyinnit, the man you were putting  _ all of your effort _ into hunting down and you’re using it now just to get me to drink a fringe potion?” 

A moment of silence stretched between them, and the wind whistled absently, oblivious to the two men’s conversation. Techno’s mind weighed in at about equal parts curiosity and suspicion. This was a very sketchy situation. However, Techno had to admit that as far as behavior went- Dream had been more unconditionally accommodating to him then anyone else on the server, besides perhaps Phil. But Phil was the exception. Dream didn’t seem to have a  _ reason _ to be as generous and helpful as he had this entire time. And for his favor he just wanted Techno to drink a potion? 

To be quite honest, Techno was getting off light. Dream was being  _ scammed _ , if this was truly what he was spending his favor on. Techno was in disbelief that Dream could possibly be using this to so little an advantage, and that should have been raising alarm bells. It  _ was _ raising alarm bells. 

Technoblade was also a very curious person, however. 

“...Techno,” Dream started, and then sighed softly, turning his head away for a moment, shifting his feet. The picture of awkwardness. “I know our interactions have been nothing but business. Understandable. And I know we were at odds, over Tommy. And I know you are a man of few friends. I admire that. And even if you don’t return it- I consider us friends, Technoblade.”

Techno stared at the other man, thoroughly puzzled. 

“...this sounds like emotion talk, Dream,” Techno blurted, voice just a tad frantic. “You know I don’t do friendship. Um. No offense.” 

“That’s okay,” Dream hurried to say, a small smile on his lips. An expectant smile, a slightly...sad smile. Like he’d completely foreseen this, and was disappointed, yet accepting. “I’ll make this quick.”

Oh no. There was that dreaded fucking guilt, bubbling deep in Techno’s chest. A friend. Why would Dream consider him a friend? They’d dueled in the past, sure. Had a sort of joking rivalry. Had...blown up a country together. 

Was mass terrorizm usually a term that signified friendship?

Techno was in very over his head. Dream was speaking again.

“I’m not asking friendship of you, Technoblade. I’m just...explaining where I stand, I suppose. And maybe this potion seems really insignificant to you, but...it means a lot to me. It does, really.”

“...oh,” Techno replied quietly. An embarrassed silence settled over the two of them, the mountain going quiet and still. “It’s...a combat potion?”

Dream nodded, energy picking back up, like an excited puppy. A giddy smile spread across his lips. “It’s definitely combat applicable,” He said, a vindictive edge slipping into his voice, competitive and satisfied. “Techno, if this works how I think it will…”

Techno raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the bottle once more. He sighed deeply, mind already made up despite himself. 

“This won’t kill me? You’re sure?” He asked blandly, even as his fingers moved to pull the cork out of the bottle. He sniffed it curiously. No scent, just the tiniest wisp of steam-like flumes drifting up and dispersing into the wind. 

“I could give you a totem to hold, if you’d like,” Dream chuckled, and Techno genuinely considered it for a moment. After a second, he shook his head however. 

“Nah.” Techno looked down at the bottle once more, hesitating. 

“Bottoms up,” Dream said. “All in one go.” Techno glanced to the side at the unreadable mask, sighed, lifted the bottle to his lips, and chugged. 

The potion was the consistency of water; cool and soothing down his throat, with practically no taste. It was shockingly bland, for a magical elixir. He lowered the now empty bottle slowly, considering himself. He didn’t feel any different. He glanced up, and raised an eyebrow as Dream  _ beamed _ back at him with the widest smile Techno had ever seen. 

“I don’t feel anything,” Techno deadpanned. 

“Just wait,” Dream laughed, and something twisted nervously in Techno’s stomach. Dream sounded way too pleased with himself. “It takes a few moments to kick in.” 

“Did you poison me?” Techno replied, wincing at the faint edge of fear in his voice. Dream threw his head back and laughed, shaking his head. 

“No, no,” Dream reassured, waving his hands. “That wouldn’t be any fun. And there would be  _ far _ easier ways to poison you then trying to get you to down a bottle. I suggest you take a deep breath, by the way.”

“A deep breath-” Techno echoed, and he realized suddenly that this was probably a very, very bad decision. 

The potion slammed him like a wall. A complete wave of vertigo that swept his entire body, caused him to stumble- and when the sensation passed Techno realized his entire body felt heavy. A weight like his limbs had been doused in iron, like the very action of lifting his arm was too much work-

Weakness. 

The color was wrong. It wasn’t the right color. How could it be Weakness?

But it was.

“You  _ fucker,” _ Techno snarled, gasping for air, wind knocked from his lungs. “You- you slimy green bitch-”

“Language,” Dream chuckled, and gone was any embarrassment, any warmth from his tone. “Oh Techno.  _ Oh _ Techno.” 

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Techno’s throat, and he snarled, yanking his sword free from his sheath, brandishing it towards the admin with crimson eyes that promised pain. 

It took a painful amount of effort, and his arm trembled slightly, struggling to support the weight of the sword that usually worked as an extension of his own arm. 

“I’ve fought with Weakness before,” Techno laughed, a confidence he didn’t feel bleeding into his words. His heart was pounding, mind racing. That familiar, awful feeling of betrayal swirling through him like a raging storm. “This- this is why I don’t do  _ friendship, _ Dream.” He spit the word like it left a foul taste in his mouth. 

It did, at this point. 

“I’m sure you have,” Dream nodded, laughing. He sounded so damn gleeful. So victorious. “But not like this. I wasn’t lying when I said I made this potion, Techno.”

Something that felt so dangerously close to fear flickered through Techno, and he knew the moment it showed on his face. Dream  _ cackled _ . Laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, laughed until he was wiping tears from his eyes and Techno’s entire body felt like ice. He wasn’t sure he could swing his word without dropping it. 

“Oh Techno you are  _ fucked,” _ Dream giggled, smiling sugar sweet and ice cold. 

His words reached Techno through a fog. The Piglin’s body was lead, heavy and stiff and unmoving. Moving his limbs was a near impossible chore, and he stumbled. His mind felt like a vat of bubbling molasses, and he couldn’t think straight. Dream had just drugged him.  _ Drugged _ him. He needed to kill him. Needed to slam his sword through that masked man’s throat. He needed to  _ run. _

“What-” His breath hitched and he stumbled, not quite sure what had happened until his knees slammed into the snow. It crunched beneath him pleasantly, and his head spun. “The- potion-” his breath hitched, lips moving slow and clumsy like he'd been in the cold for far too long. 

“A medley of things,” Dream’s voice replied; gleeful. Techno heard footsteps approaching, but he couldn’t quite lift his head enough to look up at the Admin. He was swaying slightly, balance failing. “Weakness. Slowness. Mining Fatigue. I designed it especially for you, you know. You should feel special.”

“...you’re dead,” Techno whispered, feeling the cold sinking through his pants. His head was spinning. He felt vaguely like throwing up, and maybe he needed to. Maybe that would fix this. He-

A boot collided with his stomach and Techno tumbled to the side, gasping for air; staring up at the sky that was blotted out by a figure in green and brown and white. His vision was spinning so bad that Dream was nothing but a blur. “I-I’m going to kill you,” Techno swore, coughing, trying to lift an arm and failing. 

Dream laughed and the sound echoed like it was coming down a far, distant tunnel. Techno’s vision flickered from blurry to black and back to a smudge of green and blue. 

“That’s what Tommy said,” Dream’s voice snickered. Slightly hysterical. Crazed. It reminded Techno so terribly of Wilbur. “I win, Technoblade.”

The spinning became too much, the buzzing in his ears reaching a crescendo. 

He should have told Phil where he was going.

Techno’s eyes drooped closed as his body lost its battle with unconsciousness. 


	2. Chapter 2

Nihachu was in far too relaxing of an environment to be having as much inter turmoil as she was. 

The forest around her was beautiful, in no such misuse of the word. Brightly colored flowers bloomed among green grass, and bees floated along between the trees without a care in the world to the girl who sat amongst their midst, an outsider in an oasis of nature. Niki was paying no mind to the sights, however. She’d admired it enough her first day out here, after she packed up and left the ruins of L’manberg-  _ the charcoal remains of the L’mantree- _ behind.

A bee approached, mistaking the light purpley-pink hues of her hair for a flower. She waved it away with a deceptively small and gentle hand; thin, tapered fingers that seemed more attuned to an artist’s than a soldier’s. 

She faintly remembered thinking that of Wilbur, as she lowered her hand back to its resting place in her lap. Wilbur had the hands of an artist. 

With a deep sigh, the young woman climbed to her feet, brushing the grass from her clothes. They were practical, suited to living in the wilderness as she was. Shades of brown leather and soft black wool and she wondered when her color scheme had gone from pastels to dark camouflage. Perhaps at the same time her heart went from silver to grey. 

“What are your opinions on anarchy, Niki?” She asked aloud, speaking both to herself and to no one. Her voice rang out, soft and gentle and forgettable, yet deafening in the quiet of the forest. Technoblade’s words had been turning over and over in her mind since the moment of their meeting, a few days ago. 

Technoblade confused her, as many things did these days. A part of her longed for the time when her world had been so perfectly black and white. When everything had been clear and uncomplicated. L’manberg good. Dream bad. 

She laughed aloud, a bitter, pained sound. 

It had been so simple, once. 

Technoblade was a mix of everything she feared, and everything she wanted. 

It was strange, to hate someone so much and yet admire them above all else. Her thoughts on the Piglin Anarchist were contradictions at best, insanity at worst. She wondered how many of those thoughts were her own, and how many carried over from the people she’d known along the way, their opinions influencing her own. 

Technoblade had been their ally, in Pogtopia. Against Schlatt. There was no denying that. And she was fairly certain that they would not have made it without the anarchist's help. As much hatred as her friends had held for Technoblade after his explosion, his withers, his anger in response to their reinstatement of L’manberg’s government- and she had shared it, at the time- she realized now that as betrayed as they had felt, Technoblade had felt equally as used.

It was a curious realization. 

She agreed now, that L’manberg had to go. L’manberg wasn’t their country anymore. It hadn’t been since the moment Wilbur ignited the tnt packed beneath it in his final dramatic chorus. 

Niki sighed, turning around and walking down the steps into her...house? Base? That resided deep beneath the forest floor. The sounds of the forest faded away as the underground embraced her in its cool, stagnant arms, and she took a steadying breath as she paused on her bridge, overlooking the area. If she squinted, she could imagine Technoblade still standing in the place he’d been as he gave his speech, his...sales pitch, really. Hand on his chest, red cloak billowing around him, netherite armour glittering with the shine of powerful enchantments. She remembered admiring his hair, as she’d always had; more bubblegum pink than her magenta, but it had always impressed her how a man so chaotic could have hair that seemed actually cared for. Self care never seemed high on the anarchist’s priority list. 

His speech had been awkward, halting and unpracticed. He clearly had not considered too deeply what he would say before he had arrived, and by then it was too late. But his words had held passion. 

She’d thought of Technoblade as a rather unthinking man. One with a one track mind who bulldozed towards what he desired. A strategist, sure- she couldn’t deny he used his mind quite keenly in battle. But his lack of social consciousness, his unfailing loyalty to his own morals, his violent solutions; Niki had not been impressed. 

She had seen a pig headed, aggressive man who only thought that he was right and cared for little else. 

(And she knew he had seen a timid, spineless girl who couldn’t really fight if her life depended on it)

The fall of L’manberg had opened both of their eyes. 

She had impressed him, when she burned the L’mantree, when she took her own stance.

He had shocked her, with his emotional screams as he and Tommy fought. 

“There’s a man beneath that mask,” She said aloud, consideringly. She thought about how he’d lit up, speaking to her of the anarchy she had thought was simply an excuse for war. She thought of the shine in his crimson eyes, the passion leaking into his normally bland voice. She thought of the self deprecating way he’d spoken of himself. 

_ “I know a certain individual and their violence has given anarchy a bad reputation on this server.” _

He was self aware, she mused, and that was more than she’d given him credit for. 

She’d asked for a few days to consider his offer. 

His offer to join him. 

Perhaps that was what surprised her the most. Technoblade had sought her out. She didn’t consider herself particularly valuable to his cause. She could fight as well as anyone who’d been a soldier in the wars of the SMP, but she was no prodigy. Her voice was not loud, her speeches not rousing. She highly doubted Technoblade desired baking as an element of his Syndicate. 

But he saw something in her, and that made a small, dead part of her colorless heart go warm. 

She took a deep breath and glanced around her cave, skimming her gaze over her bed, the tree, the chests. 

Niki hoped her new black trench coat was warm enough to carry her through the arctic. 

\---

Philza had a difficult time settling on the SMP. Perhaps it had been the nature of how he had joined- at the climax of a war; or perhaps it was the tension that settled over New L’manberg like a cloud. Perhaps it was that with his son gone, he held little love for the country that had stolen him. Perhaps it was that Techno himself was not yet settled, and Phil wanted him to finally take time for himself. 

It was difficult for Phil to say why he didn’t have a ‘place’ on the server. The property he had owned in New L’manberg had never been a home. Nor had the various hidden bases he had scattered across the land at each cardinal axis, just in case. 

Always just in case. 

Techno’s cottage however, was different. 

It was not the aesthetic Phil had expected his friend to take. Techno had always been a series of contradictions; a warlord and champion who enjoyed books and old myths and farming as much as he enjoyed victory. A fellow emperor in the past, who now spoke of authority like it was a stain across the earth. But Phil had expected his taste in buildings to match his taste in clothes and attitude; fanciful, regal, powerful. 

He’d expected Techno to build a castle, a palace, like he had in the true Antarctic Empire.

The small cottage was unexpected, but far nicer. 

The first time Phil did anything close to ‘settling’ was after he finally fled New L’manberg, thoroughly finished with the ridiculousness of house arrest and the very government fighting amongst themselves and the frustration of Tubbo breathing down his neck. 

He broke the band on his ankle with the fury of a man possessed and didn’t look back.

Phil supposed now that Techno’s home was truly his home as well. Of course, Techno had said that the moment they arrived back, tromping through the snow. 

_ “My house is your house, Phil. Stay as long as you want. Forever, if need be.” _

Even then, Phil had been hesitant to call it his own. ‘Techno’s house’, he referred to it as. ‘Techno’s things’. 

His friend had the bad habit of being too quick to give, too unbothered to really keep things as his own, and he didn’t want to take Techno’s authority over his land. 

Phil supposed it was a bit late now, however; not with how long he’d spent, not when he had a bed of his own and dishes that were ‘his’ and knew the layout well enough to maneuver the house at night without a light. 

He had missed living side by side with Techno. They had fallen into their old routine breathlessly fast. Maneuvering around each other like they’d shared a house all their lives, and not just two years in a frozen tundra in a distant world that no longer mattered. It was nostalgic, and warm, and Phil enjoyed not being alone. 

He had surprised himself when he invited Ranboo to stay. 

Phil wasn’t quite sure what about the teen made him stick out so much in the survivor’s mind. At first, his obvious assumption had been,  _ he reminds me of Wilbur. _

Except he didn’t. 

In fact, Ranboo didn’t remind Phil of Wilbur at all, which made him all the more confused as to why the boy mattered when the rest of New L’manberg did not. 

Where Will was passionate and artistic, cocky and loud- Ranboo was reserved, and kind; loyal and quiet. Their personalities shared little resemblance to each other, and while Phil was certain that everyone around him looked at him and Ranboo and felt pity, seeing a father seeking out a replacement son- he knew that wasn’t the case. 

Ranboo was no Wilbur, but he was something special. 

Perhaps it was that Ranboo was kind, even when New L’manberg was not. Ranboo had protested the treatment of Phil’s interrogation at the hands of the Butcher Army, and protested the house arrest just as much. Ranboo had turned a blind eye to Phil’s complete disregard for the rules of his confinement, far beyond what any favor might have required of him, out of loyalty and kindness to people who helped him. 

That kind of care was rare in this SMP, Phil realized. And when New L’manberg fell at the hands of him, Techno and Dream- when Ranboo had run to them for his book, accepted it from Techno with shaking hands, Phil had seen a kid who was unsure. 

Altogether there were too many kids in this world. This war.  _ Phil didn’t know much about Tommy besides how fondly Wilbur had spoken of him before his letters stopped, but he couldn’t fathom how the blond sixteen year old had managed to get straight in the middle of it all. How could a teen be the centerpiece of a nation’s fight? _

Phil couldn’t possibly yank all of the kids out of this- couldn’t possibly yank of the  _ adults _ out of this either, but with Ranboo he saw a chance. So he came back long after the explosions had ended and found the kid with wet eyes and shaking hands and offered a place to stay. 

Ranboo looked at him with a hopeful hesitance that spoke volumes and Phil guided him back to the arctic. 

Now Philza sat cross legged on the blue carpet of Techno’s floor, huddled before the fireplace, a mug in his hands and reminiscing about the past like the old man his friend loved to say he was. He could hear the sound of Ranboo’s footsteps on the floor below; the soft clatter of chest lids and quiet mumbles as the boy repeated various crafting recipes aloud to himself. Phil had been concerned about how Techno might react, despite his reassurances to Ranboo there would be no problems. Phil had worried that Ranboo was too harsh a reminder of Tommy, too soon. Too similar. He’d banked on Techno caving due to their friendship, and the gamble had paid off. 

He can stay, Techno had said, and Phil had smiled. 

He understood Techno’s hesitance to let Ranboo into the Syndicate, though he disagreed with it. In Phil’s opinion, Ranboo willing, he was a fantastic option. And though Phil hadn’t brought it up to Techno- Ranboo finding out about their little association was inevitable. 

The kid lived with them, for pete’s sake, and he wasn’t a fool. He may have a faulty memory, but he was observant and quiet and no stranger to lies. It would be so easy for the kid to discover their Syndicate, if he hadn’t already. Phil knew that. 

Phil also thought Ranboo was too kind to let them know how unsubtle their secrecy was, and that the kid would likely fake obliviousness simply to spare their feelings. It was sweet, in a way. 

“Phil, where is the gunpowder?” Ranboo asked, and Phil turned his head to see the teen’s head poking up through the trapdoor by the ladder, glancing his way inquiringly, his heterochromatic eyes not quite meeting Phil’s own. 

“In one of these chests, I think,” Phil admitted, freeing a single hand from his warm mug to gesture towards one of the chests near the fireplace. “I need to organize this place, god knows Techno won’t.”

“It’s alright,” Ranboo chuckled in that awkward, calm way of his, climbing up the ladder and scooting between Phil and the table to approach the chests. “My organization is probably worse. At least Techno kinda puts the same items in the same chests.”

Phil hummed absently, watching the flickering flames of the fire dance with a yellowish-orange intensity. 

A comfortable silence settled over the room, broken only by crackling logs and the soft rummaging of items as Ranboo shifted containers around, searching for his desired material. It was late; not yet late enough to really justify sleep, but the sky was dark, the air cold and there were no more chores to be done. Phil was half tempted to go raid Techno’s small library upstairs, but he suspected they were the same books Techno had hoarded in the Empire, and Phil had already read every one. 

“Where is Techno?” Ranboo asked curiously, letting out a small ‘aha!’ before he shifted back on his long legs, pulling a jar of smokey grey powder out of the chest and shutting the lid with a gentle ‘thump’. 

“Hell if I know,” Phil admitted. “He’s always vanishing to do things. My guess is he’s somewhere around L’manberg.”

“He doesn’t leave notes?” Ranboo sounded surprised, and looked surprised when Phil glanced up. Phil smiled faintly. 

“I’m not Techno’s keeper,” he chuckled, and that was the end of that. Ranboo hummed absently as he settled at the table, crafting items removed from his pockets and set on the surface. Phil wasn’t quite sure what the kid was making, but from the mismatch of supplies his only guess was fireworks. 

“Are you having a celebration?” He chuckled, startling Ranboo. 

“Oh! No,” Ranboo replied, rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at his supplies with a heavy focus. “It’s just- Techno’s crossbow uses fireworks, right? And he’s always complaining about making them, so I figured I’d make some instead.”

Phil noticed Ranboo did this a lot; made things for Technoblade. Gifts, purposely doing work so Techno wouldn’t have to. 

“Why?” Phil asked, genuinely curious. “Did he ask you to?”

“Um...no,” Ranboo admitted, and Phil listened to the crinkle of paper, followed by the gentle sound of rocks rubbing together as flowers were ground to a pulp in the mortar and pestle, destined for a future as dye. “I’m just doing it, I guess. I owe him for staying here. And I want him to like me.”

“He likes you just fine,” Phil knew it was pointless to say- it hadn’t convinced the boy the first time and still wouldn’t, but he said it anyway. “I heard about the axe you gave him. That was sweet.”

“I think he liked it,” Ranboo smiled, nervousness fading into a genuine, pleased warmth. “I feel like Techno doesn’t get gifts often. So...fireworks.” The kid moved on basically immediately, chattering about something to do with his parrots mimicking creeper sounds, and Phil listened partially, smiling to himself. 

Phil liked this kid, who treated his piglin friend like he was a friend of his own, even if Techno kept Ranboo at arm's length. 

Techno wanted Nihachu in the Syndicate, and Phil wanted Ranboo. He’d convince Techno to come around eventually. Or perhaps, if Niki joined, he would convince her to concede on Ranboo, and Techno would lose the majority decision. 

It would be a dick move, on Phil’s part, and Phil knew Techno would complain and grouch- but he also knew Techno was honorable to the rules of the Syndicate. Phil wouldn’t pull a move like that- he respected Techno too much. But it was a possibility, and one he would enjoy teasing his friend about, he was sure. 

“We moved your fletcher villager, by the way,” Phil spoke up, causing Ranboo to glance up with a curious tilt of his head. “Built him a little shack closer to the house, so he’s not in that igloo anymore.”  _ The igloo that’s the entrance to our organization’s meeting room, _ Phil didn’t say, and he suppressed a chuckle.

“Oh! That’s nice,” Ranboo nodded absently. “Any reason why?”

“Nope,” Phil shrugged, polishing off his mug and setting it aside, not bothering to come up with an excuse, uncaring if it sounded suspicious. He wanted Ranboo to be curious, after all. 

“I see,” Ranboo hummed, as calm and unphased as ever, studying his dye. “What are Techno’s favorite colors?”

“Blue and orange.” Phil yawned, stretching and rolling his shoulders, body beginning to ache from the long time of sitting on the floor. “He has a whole color tier list. Ask him sometime.” 

“Why am I not surprised,” Ranboo sighed, and reached for the yellow and red. 

\---

Niki made the trip through the Nether as fast as possible. She held no love for the dimension of fire and brimstone; hot as the worst of summer and foggy as the coldest spring nights. 

Even with her avoidance of the place, she’d frequented the hub enough to be able to navigate the web of bridges and scaffolding easily, and it didn’t take her long to be on her way, briskly walking down the path she was fairly certain had once led to where Tommy stayed during exile. 

She wasn’t quite sure if she should feel guilty or not for not remembering the location’s name. 

The young woman stepped off onto the branching cobble path- the one Tommy had made while staying with Techno- and carefully side stepped a zombified piglin. 

The scent of rotting flesh and soot filled her nose, and the nearby crackling of lava popped and bubble unpleasantly. 

She despised the Nether.

The purple glow of the arctic nether portal brought a soft sigh of relief from her lips, and she stepped within the obsidian, letting the tenderals of void wrap around her arms and pull her away from the horrid heat. The transition from way-too-hot to way-too-cold took her breath away as the world swirled around her, depositing her neatly on her feet, ankle deep in snow. 

Niki took a long, deep inhale and the cold stung her throat and nose like glass. 

Collecting herself, she glanced to either side; taking in the frozen edges of the ocean and the snow banked mountains. It was quiet- incredibly so, in a way L’manberg and the surrounding areas never had been. 

Out here there wasn’t a sound but the whistling wind. 

The sun had set during her dimensional travels, and the sky seemed endless as she tilted her head back. Stars as far as the eye could see, so  _ many _ out here where no lights could blot them out.

Niki realized with a small jolt that she’d been near cities for so long she’d forgotten how the wilderness sky even looked. The sky that had guided her travels like an old friend, a gentle mentor. 

Something that felt oddly like guilt tugged at her colorless heart. 

She lowered her chin once more, scanning the area with her eyes.

For a solid minute, she was sure that she was just standing there pointlessly, in the middle of the arctic. But on her second sweep of the white terrain, she spotted the faintest of glows illuminating over the crest of the hill. Well, it was certainly something. Best, it was Technoblade’s base. Worst, it was a lava pool and would be warm. 

She glanced to either side, rubbed her numb hands together and strode off through the snow. 

It was annoyingly slow going, she realized. Niki was not accustomed to walking in snow any deeper than the inch that had covered L’manberg in a dusting of white. Here in the arctic, it tugged at her ankles and dragged her boots in a way that was just a little too reminiscent of soul sand. 

She began to lift her feet a little higher with each step.

As she crested the hill, wincing at the bitter wind chilling her nose and cheeks- she was greeted with a sight she had, for all the world, not expected. 

When she thought ‘Technoblade’, she did not think of an idyllic little cabin of quartz and logs, nestled right up against a mountain, tucked neatly in its valley. 

Even from here she could see the frames of farms that were in the process of being built- faint patches of brownish green grass where torches melted the snow away. The place looked almost like a tiny holiday home, like the little cottage in woods from the fairy tales she’d used to love. The ones that princesses hid away in and where witches came to steal infants from their cradles. 

She wondered with a laugh if Technoblade was the princess or the witch, and the wind carried her laugh and swirled around her like it was laughing too, like they were sharing a joke. Just the two of them, her and the snow. 

Niki studied the cabin for a long moment, as the snow drifted around her legs and the breeze rustled her hair. “What do you think of anarchy, Niki?” She said for the second time that day, throwing the words out to the air. She smiled, thin and chilly, but genuine. 

Nihachu strode down the hill towards the light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the comments on chapter one, I almost cried ;-; You guys made my day


	3. Chapter 3

The heavy knock on the door of the cabin caused both inhabitants to abruptly freeze.

Ranboo had been mid-ramble and Phil had been sorting through his ender chest- but now both men had gone silent, eyes locked with one another in a wordless conversation of confusion and alarm. 

They both knew that was not Techno, because Techno did not knock. 

Phil rose to his feet in a fluid motion that spoke of years of expertise; a swirl of green and grey robes. Gone was the man drinking tea by the fire, the one that giggled at Ranboo’s attempts at jokes and guided him on which flowers were best for which color- and there stood a man who Ranboo saw without a doubt as Technoblade’s equal. 

The enderman hybrid very slowly set his pestle down, throwing nervous glances between Philza and the solid spruce door. 

The knocking came again, slightly harder. 

“...who do you think it is?” Ranboo whispered, reaching towards the worn out knapsack at his feet and fumbling with the straps holding it closed. 

“I’m not sure,” Phil replied after a heartbeat, voice soft in volume, but steady with a grim determination. “Usually visitors out here aren’t kind.” 

Ranboo winced at the small jolt of guilt that slammed his heart. The Butcher Army was one thing he remembered clearly, and they certainly had not traveled to the arctic tundra with peaceful intentions. 

Ranboo’s fingers closed around the handle of his axe as he tugged it out of the bag, accidentally pulling a few items that had caught on the blade’s corners with it in his haste. He kicked the knapsack to the side clumsily and ignored it, rising to his feet and shifting to hold the handle in a tight grip. He favored his trident in a fight- but that was back in his shack outside. 

He was suddenly very painfully aware that he was not wearing armour. 

During the scuffle with the bag, Philza had drawn his sword. The sheath now lay discarded on Techno’s brewing table- the shimmering purple blade held in Phil’s hand as the man tilted his head to glance out the windows. His lips thinned in disapprovement, and Ranboo curiously copied him, glancing out between the nearest shutters. 

There was nothing to see but snow and darkness, everything obscured by the gentle flurry of white.

“I suppose we better open the door,” Phil sighed, reluctantly moving over to the entrance and resting his palm on the metal handle, though not turning it just yet. “The lights have already given away that we’re home. You can handle yourself, if we need to fight?” 

It was phrased as a question and Ranboo appreciated the attempt at implying there was an alternative- but they were both well aware that if a battle was ahead, it did not matter if they could fight; they would  _ have  _ to. It would not be a matter of option. 

“Sure,” Ranboo replied, nodding with a false confidence and clamping down on the faintest nervous tremor in his voice. His hands flexed around the handle of his axe, and he spread his feet, balancing his weight. Phil softened for a moment, giving him a small, reassuring smile and a determined nod of his head. 

Phil turned the handle and in one fluid motion threw the door open. 

  
  
  


“...Niki?” Ranboo blurted before he could help himself, the second the worn spruce swung away to reveal their visitor. Niki froze- hand raised as though she had been about to knock for a third time. 

Ranboo hadn’t seen her since the fall of L’manberg. She looked as he remembered; magenta hair pulled back in a ponytail, wisps that had fallen free hanging loose around her cheeks and ears. However she was slightly dirty, in that ‘I spend more time outside then not’ kind of way- and her dark attire made up of a gunmetal grey sweater and solid leather boots and a trenchcoat of black wool were heavily offset by the layer of white snow that covered her shoulders and the top of her head; that dusted her eyelashes and had turned her face red with cold. 

A swirl of sudden emotion clouded Ranboo’s thoughts, making his heart clench painfully. His fingers itched suddenly for the book in his bag, several feet away, out of reach. 

Niki was under the ‘Stay Away From’ section of his friendship page. 

The sudden contradiction of feelings and floaty memories made the Ender hybrid flinch back a step, unconsciously putting himself closer to the comforting warmth of the fireplace. The heat licking gently at the back of his legs reminded him of the flames he’d seen curling around the wispy leaves of the burning L’mantree- talons of smoke rising in deceptively beautiful swirls. 

Ranboo remembered Tommy’s scream of raw pain and horror when the teen saw the charcoal trunk. He remembered the steely determination in Nihachu’s voice;

_ “It was me. I burned it.” _

He remembered fumbling with his pen, scrawling in messy, frantic letters-

**She chose a side.**

They were all distressing thoughts and he hated that he remembered so well. Hated that he could see those scenes dancing behind his eyes with crystal clarity, and yet the taste of cake and bread on his tongue was so faint it seemed like a dream; temporary and forgotten.

“Oh...Ranboo?” Niki replied- confusion coloring her voice as the words forcefully shoved Ranboo back into the present, leaving him reeling. The young woman-  _ traitor? friend? enemy? _ glanced between him and Phil, eyes flicking as though to search the room behind them as well. “This is...I didn’t know you lived out here.”

“Nihachu,” Phil said smoothly, surprise softening his tone. “What’s going on?” 

“Niki, please,” The girl replied, shifting slightly on her feet. Awkward. She glanced between the both of them, and Ranboo could see determination and apprehension warring in her posture. He gnawed on his lip slightly and kept his eyes firmly trained on her hair, avoiding eye contact. Let Phil do the talking. Leave this to Phil.

“Niki,” Phil repeated, and his arm finally relaxed, lowering his sword to his side. “I take it Techno spoke to you?”

“He did,” Niki nodded, rubbing her arms and shivering in a way that seemed unconscious if her glassy, unfocused eyes were anything to go by. Ranboo knew the expression of someone racking their memory well. He saw it in the mirror every day. “I take it I’m in the right place?”

“Mhm,” Phil replied, and he set his sword aside on the table. Not yet sheathed, but out of reach- and gestured for her to come in. “You must be freezing.” 

“Thank you,” Niki replied quietly, stepping in out of the snow as Phil shut the door, locking it once more. Ranboo silently took another step closer to the fire and the wall, keeping his tall frame out of the way. He lowered the axe to a less threatening position, but…

He couldn’t quite find the willpower to set it down yet. 

_ Niki was on the ‘Stay Away From’ list.  _

Ranboo swallowed and stared at the girl of magenta hair and small stature, with a gleaming netherite sword hanging from her belt. The one who had smiled and offered cookies- and had stood amongst the rubble, a flint and steel in shaking hands. 

Niki was looking around the room with an innocent curiosity; the expression of someone intrigued and surprised, not the eyes of someone scheming and absorbing information. Still, Ranboo waited stiffly. Phil was a friend, and Niki was not. If she tried anything, Ranboo’s first priority would always be Phil. 

“Techno isn’t home currently,” Phil sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired. 

“He isn’t?” Niki echoed, sounding surprised. “He seemed to imply he’d be here if I came.”

“Techno doesn’t have the best attention span,” Ranboo remarked absently before he could help himself. The words slipped out; casual and out of place, like his mind had forgotten its mental struggle and had defaulted to a normal conversation. “Probably got distracted.”

“True,” Phil agreed with a chuckle, eyeing Niki up and down with a calculating, though not unkind sweep of his gaze. “It’s late, you’d better stay the night. I can introduce you to the- well, we can talk- tomorrow.” His eyes flicked in Ranboo’s direction; and though Ranboo wasn’t looking, he could feel Phil’s eyes momentarily skim over him, burrowing deep into his skin. Then the sensation was gone. 

Ah, secrets. 

“Oh. I see. Yes, um- thank you.” Niki nodded with a sudden spark of realization and apprehension in her voice, and Ranboo was suddenly very keenly aware that there was something he was not supposed to know that was pointedly  _ not _ being discussed in front of him. Ranboo shifted anxiously and decided it was probably time to leave. He needed to sit down, read his book, and think. 

_ Secrets, like always. Always secrets. Secrets like executing Technoblade. Secrets like Tommy hiding in the arctic. Secrets like the voice that invaded his thoughts with every trip to the panic room. _

“Well, um. I think I should head back to my house,” Ranboo said aloud, moving towards the table and his knapsack without glancing in Niki’s direction. The half completed fireworks still lay beside excess paper and ruddy orange dye, and Ranboo knew he’d have to finish them eventually. They seemed so small and insignificant, now.

He missed his quiet night, where it had just been idle crafting and Phil’s light laugh and the crackling fire and the scent of tea. The peace of ten minutes ago felt like an eternity away. Now he felt cold and uncomfortable and confused.

“Goodnight mate,” Phil said without protest, and a silent sigh of relief escaped Ranboo’s lips, even as a part of him wished Phil had placed an arm around his shoulders and whispered  _ stay. _ “Keep warm.”

“I’ll keep a furnace running,” Ranboo promised automatically, swinging his bag over his shoulder, axe at his side; clenched in a clammy palm. “Goodnight Phil.” 

He hesitated, then turned to glance at Niki. She was watching him back silently, and Ranboo hated how unreadable her face was. There was no hostility radiating outwards- but no remorse either, and Ranboo wondered if they were ever going to be as they used to. He was nostalgic, however. People-  _ friends- _ were his weakness. 

_ Chose people, not sides,  _ He thought, and he wondered if forgiving Niki was choosing her person. Or was it choosing a side?

The book burned a hole through the bag on his back, felt blazing hot against his skin despite it being nothing but leather and paper and ink. 

“Goodnight, Niki,” he said softly, because he was a sentimental fool and they had once been something close.

“Ranboo…” She began, voice soft, and halting and uncertain-

But the teen was already out the door, vanishing into the shadows of night and snow.

  
  
  


Phil let out a quiet, near inaudible sigh as he closed the door to Techno’s cabin for the second time. The chill lingered, swirling around his legs and arms like a faint mist, and Phil pulled his robe a little tighter as he lightly stepped nearer to the fireplace. 

Niki’s gaze rested on the front door, a resigned sadness softening her eyes. 

She looked as tired as Phil felt. 

“Let me set you up a bed,” Phil said quietly, nodding in answer to the quiet ‘Thanks’ the young woman uttered. It was a familiar and vaguely comforting routine- pulling furs and blankets from the downstairs storage and arranging them on the rug before the fire in a vaguely bed-shaped nest. Niki offered to help, but Phil waved her off with a silent hand. 

They bid each other a simple goodnight, promises to speak in the morning hanging solid in the air as the girl settled down cross legged on the furs, eyes locked on the fire; gaze as far away as the stars in the sky. 

Phil watched her for a moment, taking in the sad slump of her shoulders and the determined, pinched thinness of her lips. 

He wondered, as he climbed the ladder to Techno’s- _ their _ room- if this server left anyone untouched. 

  
  
  


Philza became acutely aware of Techno’s absence as he settled onto the mattress of his cold bed. It wasn’t uncommon for him to fall asleep alone- Techno’s sleep schedule was abysmal. However the man usually at least occupied the room with Phil; reading or writing quietly; sometimes simply laying awake and planning. 

Looking now at Techno’s empty bed beneath the window; blankets exactly as ruffled and unkempt as they had been when Phil awoke that morning, Techno already having left the house- it made something in Phil’s heart seize. 

It had been a long day, and despite how much Phil loved to say he had a grasp on everything- he missed the comforting presence of his friend. 

They worked so well together for a reason. 

Phil drew his communicator from his robes as he settled underneath the blankets, waiting for them to warm from his body heat to something comforting rather than chilled. The last message he had was from three days prior, when Techno had asked if he needed anything from the village besides golden carrots. Phil studied the words and let rereading their simple back and forths soothe him slightly from the room’s emptiness. 

_ [Philza] _ When are you getting back?

He hit send and laid the communicator to the side. His mind wandered as he settled down, and Phil’s thoughts slipped to Ranboo; of the distress and confliction in his eyes as he stared deep into Niki with a thousand yard gaze. He remembered Ranboo showing him the page in his notebook that listed him and Technoblade as friends- and realized with a jolt that Niki’s name had not been present. 

Philza sighed and ran a hand through his hair and wondered suddenly if his goal of having both Niki and Ranboo in the Syndicate was unrealistic. Clearly something had happened between the two that he was not aware of. 

He tilted his head and listened hard, trying to see if he could sense Niki downstairs. The house was quiet, as though the young woman weren’t even there. He remembered Wilbur talking about her in his letters. The fondness and admiration in his words. 

‘ _ She’s quiet, but strong. So strong, Phil. She’s too good for me, really- I don’t deserve her as a friend.’ _

A part of him understood now what Will had meant. There was something brittle and broken and cold in her eyes- iron. Steel determination, a crystal cold fury that would not back down. 

Wilbur had told him about a girl who baked and laughed and inspired him.

Phil saw a woman with tired eyes and hunched shoulders.

_ “Good for you!” Techno crowed, voice full of surprise and wonder, sounding to Phil’s intrigument,  _ impressed. _ “That’s the spirit. Nothing like a little light arson.” _

__ _ Techno’s hand settled on Niki’s shoulder in an uncharacteristically warm gesture, and Phil watched the woman’s tense form relax slightly, white knuckled fingers loosening on the flint and steel clenched within them. _

__ _ Her cheeks and hands and hair were streaked with soot and ash, and in parallel Techno’s clothes were dark with potion stains and blood and wither residue. They looked like they belonged, standing there in rubble, a charcoal tree and a smoldering crater as their backdrop. _

__ _ Techno threw his head back and laughed, high on victory, and Niki smiled; hesitant and cold, but determined and perhaps despite everything; a little proud.  _

As sleep began to crawl at the edges of Philza’s consciousness; the blankets dragging him down like weighted water- he distinctly remembered standing in the first ruins of L’manberg, Wilbur’s still warm form clutched in his arms. 

He remembered looking up and seeing a then nameless woman with glittering eyes and pale hair and their gazes met across a canyon, through the drifting smoke and screams and the echo of ghostly explosions. 

Phil dreamed of snow and withers and flames and wondered if Nihachu missed Wilbur just as bad as he.

\---

Sleep was a rather unfamiliar thing for Technoblade. His general train of life was ‘do more, sleep less’. He knew first hand that it was rather inhuman, how infrequently his mind actually rested. Phil told him no few times that a human would be dead if one had a schedule like Techno. 

It was moments like two am with two hours of sleep in the last four days that made him happy to be piglin in nature. 

Techno had slept more in the Antarctic Empire then he ever had in his life. Perhaps it was the cold- he was a very warm blooded creature and the weather took its toll. More likely it was a result of Phil. They were co-leaders, emperors, and Techno needed to be awake when his partner was. That meant cutting down on day-time emergency power naps. 

Which in turn meant sleeping at night. 

The point was- sleeping a lot, or for a long time, was not something Techno was accustomed to by nature and habit. His keen hearing meant he woke up fast and easily- usually half jumping to his feet before his eyes were fully open. 

Drowsiness was not a familiar sensation. 

Techno’s first true, lucid thought was that he was cold. The kind of cold that settled in once the fire had burned itself out, when the wind was seeping in through the thinnest cracks in the wall. It was the cold of an empty house; one with no owner to warm it, no care to repair it, that creeped deep into his bones. 

He shivered, and tried to blink. 

It didn’t quite work. 

His body was heavy in a way that should have been incredibly concerning, but his mind was heavy too; slow and lazy, with long, stretched, endless pauses between one thought to the next. His mind was in slow motion, crawling its way to reality when it should have been sprinting, but he was too weak to move any faster. 

His mind caught on that word. ‘Weak’. It felt important. 

Why was it cold?

A voice drifted through the haze, settling into his ears. He supposed it should be loud enough for him to distinguish words, to tell the owner- but his sluggish mind simply processed a jumbled murmur, a low rumble of sound. 

The voice was familiar, and that soothed Techno slightly. Familiarity was good, in this strange foggy world where weight and cold was foreign. 

The fight to open his eyes even a crack took an embarrassingly long time, if embarrassment had been something he was capable of focusing on. For a moment he wasn’t sure he’d managed to open his eyes at all- before him was black, after all. But after a long, lethargic moment, he realized he was staring at a wall. 

_ Blackstone _ , something in his mind helpfully supplied. Ah yes. Nether cobble. But bricked. Techno felt the inexplicable urge to giggle, which felt wrong, because there was no mirth in his body. No amusement, and- well nothing, really. He didn’t feel much of anything other than confusion and a desire to perhaps go back to sleep. 

Why was there blackstone? Was he in his vault?

_ The vault is gone, _ that helpful part of his mind reminded.  _ Raided. _

Ah yes. Tubbo had taken his emeralds. Techno remembered that. 

He tried to focus back on the voice he had heard- the one that murmured, the one that was familiar, but it had fallen silent. Everything was very quiet, in fact, Techno realized. Very quiet. 

He was cold, but his wrists were especially cold. And his back. 

His back hurt, ached like when he made the mistake of falling asleep at his desk, rather than in his bed. 

Was he lying on stone?

For the first time, a flicker of concern cut through the fog. He was on the floor. 

His body and thoughts were numb and drained, but that determined part of him spoke up again. Urgent, making up for the alarm Techno lacked. 

_ Trapped, _ his mind warned.  _ Trapped.  _

He didn’t feel particularly trapped. He felt tired, and he felt stone beneath him, and he felt cold. 

Perhaps it was time to go back to sleep. Yes, that seemed wise. 

_ No,  _ came the argument.  _ No. Wake. Wake! _

Crimson eyes slid shut, and a pale head tilted listlessly until a cheek pressed against the cold stone floor. 

Technoblade slept on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your guys' comments motivate me every time I look at them, thank you for helping give me the power to write this


	4. Chapter 4

Niki sat silently on the soft bundle of furs, her fingers tracking a slow, steady back and forth as they glided through the thin hair. Her other hand was tangled deep in the wool blankets; the soft material fuzzy against her calloused palm. 

She watched Phil move around the house with a distracted interest. She hadn’t seen him, not since the fight. Her last image of the man had been his back as he and Technoblade vanished out of the borders of L’manberg- battle worn, but unharmed, leaving a crater, drifting smoke and the billow of cloaks in their wake. 

It was strange, knowing how dangerous the man calmly making tea across the room could be. He didn’t particularly look it. No, Philza appeared- for all intents and purposes- as nothing more than an ordinary, tired person; hair unbrushed and clothes well worn and loved and his smile tinged with the most human hint of uncertainty.

(Then Niki noticed the way his deep ocean eyes glittered with a keen awareness, even when ringed with sleepless bags. She saw how easily his hands twisted a washcloth and was struck with an image of a razor sharp blade twirled just as effortlessly.)

Philza was a deadly man, and Niki knew it. She knew it as she accepted the steaming mug he offered; knew it as the morning sunlight streamed golden and warm through the shuttered windows and made Phil’s pale hair and paler skin seem to glow. She knew how easily he could kill as his soft, gentle, warm voice and light chuckles prodded her drowsiness away and pulled her into a casual conversation. 

He was so dangerous, and yet with each passing minute, Niki found herself more and more at ease in his presence. 

She envied the man, she suddenly realized. Was ravenously jealous of how kindly he spoke, how calmly he moved as though there wasn’t power beneath his skin, death in his trained fingers. 

Philza was as sharp as he was sweet and Niki wanted that. 

She wanted people to look at her- little her with her soft voice and delicate hands (just like Phil’s kind laugh and warm smile-) and know that beneath that was skill, and talent, and power. 

It was quite a heavy realization for such an early morning; one where her body still hung lazy and heavy with sleep. 

They talked in idle conversation as their mugs cooled and the drinks warmed their cores. Ranboo had not returned to the house, and Niki couldn’t quite help but feel guilty as she rested the warm ceramic cup against her knee, tugging her hands up into her sleeves. 

Ranboo’s expression of bitterness and hurt and confusion had haunted her dreams. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him; kind Ranboo, endlessly sweet and devoted. 

Had she lost him, with her decision in the battle for Lmanberg?

Niki swallowed and lowered a hand to anxiously stroke the furs once more as she listened to Phil talk of the turtles that Technoblade apparently loved so much. 

A cottage. Turtles. Ranboo. 

_ “I’m a person, Tommy!” _

Technoblade couldn’t stop surprising her, throwing her expectations to the wind. 

“Well…” Phil cleared his throat, setting his mug to the side, and Niki could feel the sudden shift in the air. She sat up a little straighter, attention shifting back to reality as Phil’s eyes swept over her in a searching, inquiring gaze. “Techno talked to you about the Syndicate, I presume.”

Niki nodded agreeably, resisting the urge to look back down at the blankets pooled beneath her. Now was not the time to fear eye contact and conversation. She steeled her resolve- Technoblade had invited her, she had to remember that. She couldn’t let her anxiety begin to surface doubts now, not when she’d already came this far. 

“He did. Came and gave me a whole speech.”

“That sounds like Techno alright,” Phil chuckled, serious tone momentarily lightening into something soft and amused- and dare Niki sat it,  _ fond. _ “It must have worked, if you’re here.”

“It didn’t really,” Niki admitted thoughtlessly, the mirth fueled honesty slipping out with the lightest of laughs to match it. “His speech was awful. The fact that he invited me at all, and his...passion, I suppose- it made me think.” 

“Mmm,” Phil hummed noncommittally, and his gaze, though not unkind, felt like it was burrowing beneath her skin and leaving her deepest secrets bare to the world. “He isn’t made to publicly speak, I will admit.”

“He gives lovely speeches when he’s in a fit,” Niki snorted lightly, a bit of exasperation coloring her voice. She stroked a finger across the warm mug idly. “Him and Tommy had quite the yelling match.” 

“They did,” Phil laughed lightly, though something about him seemed resigned. Strained, perhaps. Tired. “They both had a lot of things bottled up. Maybe not the best time to address it, when bombs are raining from the sky.”

“Since when has Tommy had good timing?” Niki asked, and Phil grinned. 

“Since when has Techno?” He shot back, and they were both exchanging teases before Niki quite realized what’s going on. Her anxiety was long gone, and sitting like this she could almost forget that Philza was a terrorist. 

Did joining the Syndicate make her one too? 

She decided not to think too deeply into that just yet. 

“Come on,” Phil spoke up, rising to his feet and gesturing for her to follow. “You can leave your mug on the table- I’ll show you our meeting room. I’m sure Techno would want to show you himself, but well...he’s still not home.”

“Should he be?” Niki asked curiously as they both approached the door. She watched as Phil slipped a dark blue cloak off of a hook, looping it around his shoulders and fiddling with the golden clasp on the front. It looked rich, but was clearly handmade; heavy and warm with no small resemblance to Techno’s red cape.

“I have no idea where Techno is,” Phil sighed, reaching for his sheathed sword and slipping his belt on. Niki’s own hand unconsciously settled on the hilt of her blade, checking for its presence even though she was already certain it was there. “He vanishes sometimes. Follow me.” 

  
  
  


Their brief trip through the tundra was both shorter and longer than Niki had expected. They make their way in a comfortable silence towards the distant nether portal she had arrived in, snow crunching pleasantly beneath their feet. The flurry of last night had ceased its falling, and the sky was a brilliantly clear baby blue- making the endless expanse of snow that seemed to lead in every direction glitter like the crystals of the nether. 

Phil led her into a small gully only about thirty feet from the portal. It was surprisingly hidden; it was near impossible to discern the depth of the landscape when everything was purely white. Niki breathed a soft sigh of relief as the gully walls rose up around them, cutting out the icy breeze and warming the air by a shockingly large amount. 

Before them was an igloo- a small dome of harshly packed snow and coated in a thin layer of ice. Niki would be the first to admit she’d never actually  _ seen _ an igloo in her life. A part of her had been convinced they weren’t even real- simply a mysterious structure from stories. This entire trip to the arctic and Technoblade’s farm was giving her a whole new perspective on fairy tale settings. 

The inside of the igloo was surprisingly cozy, but also...barren. Niki glanced around at the small cot, the table and empty flower pot, the crafting table, and the rug on the floor in confusion. There wasn’t much to take in. 

‘Meeting room’, Philza had said. Niki swept the small interior one more time, and her eyes zeroed in on the carpet on the floor. An odd choice. Unnecessary, the snow floor would only get it wet. Suspicious.

“Perceptive.” Phil’s warm praise cut the silence, and she glanced up to see him shoot her an amused glance before kneeling to flip the carpet out of the way. 

Beneath it- as Nihachu had suspected- was a small section of stone bricks, with a solid, heavy trapdoor in the center. Phil pulled it up to reveal a ladder, stuck a leg down, and began to climb. 

Niki followed, feeling a rush of nostalgia for her home back in the SMP as the silence of the underground rose up to surround them. Again she found herself in a suspiciously small room- walls and floor of cold stone. The old remnants of brewing stands and dusty bottles and tattered journal pages coated the tables and floors. Cobwebs filled the corners, and she suspected no one had properly used this place in years. 

What unsettled her most however were the two cells set into the back wall; one with bars broken and bent out of shape and the other with an unlocked door, open an inch or two. Both were empty. 

“This is an old, old place we found,” Phil informed her, following her gaze. His voice echoed in the rocky room, creating an uneasy quality to the words that warred with Phil’s soft tone for dominance. “There was a zombie villager in one of those when we arrived. It had been there for a long time. Someone was experimenting with healing, long ago.”

“I guess they didn’t succeed, if it was still there” She murmured, voice just as hushed. 

“We healed him,” Phil reassured even as his lips pinched with a sorrowful grimace, eyes fixated on the cell for a beat too long. “Anyway. This way.” 

Phil’s hand reached for a button that had escaped Niki’s notice, disguised as it was against the stone wall. Something clicked, and with the scrap of grinding stone a section of wall retracted, revealing roughly cut stairs spiraling down. 

“The place is still a bit thrown together,” Phil admitted, sheepishness coloring his tone. “Forgive us if things are ugly- I’m trying my best, but Techno’s no builder.” 

“His house was beautiful, though?” Niki threw Phil a puzzled look as she stepped through the passageway, making her way carefully down the uneven stone steps. 

“Oh he had an architect draw a plan for him,” Phil laughed, and Niki shook her head slightly. She should have expected as much. It brought a small smile to her lips, the image of Techno hunched over a design plan and frowning at it with all the frustration of a rather threatening puppy.

“I suppose I- oh-” The words died in her throat as she turned the final corner of the stairs, stepping down onto a floor of mossy stone. Phil’s laugh hardly registered as Niki swept the room she’d stepped into with a stunned amazement, momentarily struck speechless. 

It wasn’t the beauty of the room, so much as the mystery and intrigue that froze her in place. The walls and floor were rather dull- heavily aged stone brick, clogged with cracks and moss and faded designs worn down by age and water. The  _ allure, _ however- she swallowed and took another step further. 

The entire room had a bluish glow, almost like a faint magical fog. The strangely colored light illuminated out from the soul lanterns hanging from the ceiling; delicate cylinders of artistically twisted metal, filled with small pockets of flaming soul sand. Across the room, a warm orange radiance filled the corners, streaming up from pools of lava. The heat rolled off of the deadly fountains in waves, filling the cold underground with the torridity of a bonfire. 

The centerpiece of the room however was unlike anything she had ever seen. 

Roughly hewn wooden chairs of spruce boughs and rope were scattered haphazardly- pulled out of place from owners that sat down and did not bother to push them back in when they stood once more. They surrounded a table of the same heavy spruce- expect the border of the table was- was-

Well Niki wasn’t quite sure  _ what _ it was. 

She drifted forwards, a hand reaching down to brush the cool, off-white...stone. It felt vaguely like cobble to the touch, with an odd softness. Her fingers trailed up, over the decorative curls of dark, emerald green metal until they settled in the small indent at the top of the block. 

There were twelve identical, round crevices in the table frame, she noted idly. Three on each side. 

“We found it,” Phil spoke up, voice soft enough that it seemed to belong- echoing as though his words were a part of the room itself, like he himself was as mythical as their surroundings. “We aren’t sure what it is. It made an...interesting table.” 

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Niki admitted, transfixed. “I’ve never seen stone or metal like this.”

“We couldn’t break it.” Phil walked to her side, his own hand drifting to join hers as he stroked the table frame with the possessive curiosity of a spirited adventurer. “None of our tools left a mark, a dent.” 

“How odd,” Niki breathed, finally glancing up, sweeping the room once more- this mysterious room with its ancient walls and blue lights and lava haze. “You are all so terribly dramatic.”

“Techno took one look at this place and claimed it as our headquarters,” Phil laughed, and the spell broke. The fog settled, and Niki took a steady breath and reminded herself she was simply in a room. 

“Congratulations, you’re the first person besides us two to see this. Welcome to the Syndicate.” Phil lifted his hand, palm up, and gestured around the room as though to show it all proudly. 

“Thank you,” Niki giggled, a sudden giddiness rushing through her. An excitement, not unlike when Wilbur had dragged her into L’manberg for the first time, all bright smiles and infectious energy. 

_ “And see- over there is where we’re going to build a house. And that wall? We had to repair that because Tubbo blew it up with a creeper, but-” _

__ _ “You built all this, Will?” She asked, wonder coloring her tone as she gazed around the area- the patchy grass, worn from trails off footsteps; the majestic walls of blackstone and gleaming yellow- the flag dancing far above on its pole, alive with the wind. _

“We  _ built this,” Wilbur corrected, and when she turned to look at him his eyes seemed to glow gold in the sunset, his smile soft and filled with love like she’d never seen before. “This is our home.” _

_ “I can tell,” She laughed, just as happy, and he grinned; wide and proud. “I’m happy for you Wilbur.”  _

_ “I’m glad you’re here, Niki,” Will smiled, eyes dancing with joy and mischief. He stepped back, sweeping an arm out as though to encompass the world, standing tall with all the poise of a general and a politician and a  _ leader. __

_ “Welcome to L’manberg.”  _

“It’s a beautiful room,” She admitted, sliding her hands into her pockets. 

_ “It’s beautiful, Will.” _

_ “Of course it is. It’s our country!”  _

“Aw, thank you. It’s a work in progress though, unfinished,” Phil admitted, tapping the table absently with his knuckle. “We’re probably going to expand, make a proper headquarters. We’re hoping to get more members too, so it’s not just me, you and Techno.” 

“I’m surprised Ranboo isn’t involved,” She blurted suddenly, remembering Phil’s cautious words around the teen, how the Syndicate was never mentioned by name. “Is he living with you guys?” 

“Basically,” Phil nodded, frowning slightly. “He has a house- or well, ‘shack’ as he calls it- right next door. Don’t get me wrong,  _ I _ want Ranboo in the Syndicate. But Techno’s more hesitant.”

“Is Technoblade in charge?” She asked mildly, the sign at the back wall of the room catching her attention. It was in a language she did not know and wasn’t for the life of her going to be able to pronounce, but it seemed an awful lot like a motto; carved into stone and displayed proudly above the centermost chair. 

“Oh no,” Phil reassured, chuckling lightly as he nudged a chair out with his foot and sat down. Niki glanced at him, surprised. “That’s one of the main points of the association- there is no leader. Or leaders, I suppose. No leaders, and no member is forced to do anything. It’s very ‘club’ like. Decisions are made through majority vote.” 

“How ironically democratic,” Niki remarked, and Phil smiled faintly, raising a finger to his lips that remained upturned with amusement. 

“Don’t tell Techno that,” He laughed, and Niki smiled because no, she definitely did not want to say that to the most anarchy obsessed man she’d ever met. 

“Why does he hate government so much?” She asked curiously, cautiously settling down in a chair of her own and combing her hair back behind her ears and out of her eyes. 

“Honestly? I’m not 100% sure,” Phil admitted, settling back in his chair, one arm hung over the back casually. “It certainly surprised me. We used to run a kingdom, you know. On a server that’s long gone, but still. We were co-leaders, me and him. Techno built a palace.” 

“Really?” Niki tilted her head. It was both impossibly difficult and effortless to believe. She was incredulous, because the Technoblade she’d seen had gone to the  _ ends of the earth _ to smite down L’manberg- had screamed himself horse about how government was the reason for every problem they all experienced, had lost friends and resources and risked his own life for ideals he seemed incapable of letting go of. 

But then she thought of his fanciful attire; his crown of gold and experience on the battlefield and how he bled authority and command in his every word and she wondered how she could’ve seen him as anything else but an ex-king, an ex-leader. 

“We lost contact for about two years after we both left the Antarctic Empire.” Phil’s tone hung heavy with bittersweet nostalgia; eyes unfocused and far away. “When we remet, he carried the creed he does now. I’m not entirely sure why, and I don’t think he’d give an honest answer if I asked. But regardless of if it’s on a throne or in a ditch- I’ll stand at Techno’s side.”

The force of those words left Niki starstruck for a moment. The unconditional devotion and pride and affection in Phil’s tone-

_ “Wha- man, come on Niki, who do you take me for? Of course me an’ Tubbs are gonna do this together. We’re a  _ team _ Niki, a team! Dynamic duo! The Big Man and his awesome Tubbster! We’re in this  _ together _ , Miss Nihachu.”  _

She felt breathless for a moment as her head swirled- images of Tubbo and Tommy side by side and reeking of mischief melding with Phil and Techno- together and inseparable in the explosions of L’manberg. 

“...you two are really close,” She said softly, watching as Phil’s eyes refocused, as the man slowly came back to reality. 

“Me and Techno go way back,” Phil chuckled warmly, glancing down at his lap with something almost akin to faint embarrassment. “It’s a bit hard to rule a country together and not become close.” 

“And now you’re destroying countries together,” She remarked. 

“Two sides of the same coin, really,” Phil waved a hand absently, a smile stretching across his lips. “We talked about you a lot, you know. You stuck in Techno’s mind, after you burned that tree. You impressed him. You have a spot in the Syndicate if you want it, courtesy of us both. Unanimous vote.”

It was one thing to think it, and another entirely to hear the words spoken directly from a proper source. Niki’s throat went abruptly tight, her heart skipping a beat as something sickeningly hopeful and warm and yearning twisted through her veins like the most heavenly poison. 

“Yeah?” She asked, voice dangerously fragile. The words hung like delicate ice in the silence. 

Phil nodded, and there was something so bittersweet and understanding about his gentle smile. “There’s a place here for you,” He repeated, so genuine. So earnest. 

Niki hesitated for the briefest of moments, but only to swallow the lump in her throat and collect herself. She would  _ not _ cry. 

“Thank you,” She said, voice only a little shaky, only a tad too formal. “I accept.”

“Welcome to the Syndicate,” Phil said for the second time, and smiled. In that moment, Niki saw Wilbur’s pride and hope and determination gleam in the father’s eyes. He held out his hand to shake. 

Niki took it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God you guys, the support you give is insane. Your comments seriously make my day, thank you <3
> 
> This chapter was supposed to have more, but it was already getting close to 3500 words so I just posted it


	5. Chapter 5

Ranboo wasn’t expecting the soft rap against the pole of his shack, startling him from his stupor. He’d been fully focused on Ranbun- well no, that wasn’t true. He’d been idly scratching behind the rabbit’s ears while his mind was far, far away- thinking about the emotional chaos of the night before and of the axe he’d been planning to make and of the fish he really needed to catch for his cats. 

Ranboo turned his head to acknowledge the sound, and something in his stomach tightened as he gaze settled on Niki; hand still hovering by the pole, lips pinched with hesitance and a tad bit of wariness. She looked windblown, face red as thought she’d already spent a good deal of time out in the cold. She had, if Ranboo remembered correctly- he’d seen Niki and Phil leave the house and head in the direction of the nether portal roughly an hour ago. He must have missed their return, lost in thought as he was.

“...hi,” Ranboo greeted blandly, after the silence stretched for more than a few seconds too long. 

“Hi,” Niki echoed, voice high with a thin, false sense of cheer. “Um. Phil left for L’manberg, to look for Techno. He said you could show me around.” 

“...I see,” Ranboo sighed, reluctantly pulling his hands away from his pet’s soft fur. He studied the bunny for a moment, wondering if he could just refuse and hide away in his comfort room for the rest of the day. He didn’t  _ really _ have to show Niki around, did he?

No, no- Phil had volunteered him for this, and the least he could do was do Phil the favor. Phil was a friend.

Ranboo rose to his feet slowly, dusting the dirt off of the knees of his dress pants. “Well, if Phil said I could, then I suppose.”

He reached for the gate of his shack and Niki stepped away hurriedly, clearing more than enough room for the enderman hybrid to slip out of his hut. 

Ranboo paused, then gestured for Niki to follow as he began to stride off towards Phil and Techno’s house, not quite having the heart to check if the woman was following. 

He could hear her footsteps crunching lightly behind him anyways. 

“There isn’t too much to show,” Ranboo admitted as they tramped through the snow. “There’s an unfinished nether wart farm over there- or actually, I think it’s decommissioned. The bee farm works though. Don’t break anything or Phil might have an aneurysm, I’ve seen him lose sleep over that thing before.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Niki laughed softly- hesitant, as though she were walking on tiptoes, like this false peace hanging between them was something fragile. Maybe it was. Ranboo wasn’t quite sure  _ what _ to think about them. Wasn’t sure if he remembered even how he was  _ supposed  _ to feel. He was hurt, and angry- but he wasn’t. It was too confusing, like his brain couldn’t make up its mind. 

“...I’ll show you the turtles,” Ranboo murmured, swallowing down a mouthful of equal parts irrational irritation and painful anxiety. He was mad at Nihachu. Right?

He didn’t know anymore and he hated it. 

The silence stretched between them, too long and too thick as Ranboo led the pinkette towards the fenced-in section of river. 

“Techno takes care of these,” Ranboo admitted. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“I wondered how they had so many potions,” Niki said thoughtfully, gazing with absent eyes at the various turtles, fixated on a few babies huddled close together in a little dog pile. There was another breath of quiet, as they each politely pretended to be distracted by the heavily-armoured animals. 

“...you’re angry with me,” Niki blurted; resigned and tired. She looked down at the ground, avoiding eye contact as Ranboo’s gaze quickly jolted to look at her. It wasn’t a question.

“We haven’t talked since L’manberg,” Ranboo replied stiffly, swallowing around a mouthful of cotton and dodging the question. He  _ was _ angry. But it was all too bubbly, too corrosive of a mess. He wasn’t sure if he was angry at what Niki had done, or something else entirely. He couldn’t remember. 

“You fled the area,” Niki shot back accusingly, tone sharpening from upset to defensive. “You were nowhere to be found, how was I supposed to talk to you?”

“I didn’t want to be anywhere near there.” Ranboo frowned, twisting his head away.

_ Didn’t want to be anywhere near the panic room. _

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Niki’s voice was heated, struggling to stay composed and calm and Ranboo felt hot and cold all at once, a very irrational urge to scream without words clawing at his sealed lips for exit. 

“You didn't listen to me!” Ranboo protested, turning on the balls of his feet and beginning to pace, body flush with nervous energy. “I told you, I told you all- you agreed with me! Before the fight! You agreed!”

“I did agree! I did listen!” Niki argued- strained and desperate and furious and hurt all at once and Ranboo hated this, he hated this he  _ hated this so much. _

“You  _ chose a side!” _ Ranboo snapped- exploded really, all his fury radiating out and he saw the moment that Niki’s thin control on her emotions fractured. 

_ “Yes!” _ She cried, arms flung out to the side, louder and more distressed than Ranboo had ever heard her. “Yes, I did pick a side. I did, Ranboo, I did! And I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry at all. I did what I thought was right, Ranboo. I did what I needed to.” 

She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes narrow with pain and frustration and Ranboo felt himself drowning in the eye contact, asphyxiating in pained hazel and too soft lashes. 

“I couldn’t stand there Ranboo.” Her voice cracked- as brittle as glass and under twice the pressure, a fraying cord held too tight for too long. She ducked her head, snapping their eyes apart and suddenly Ranboo could breathe again- cold arctic air flooding his lungs as he watched thin magenta locks hide the woman’s face from view. Her words escaped as a whisper- deafening in the quiet. “I-I...I...I couldn’t do  _ nothing.  _ I wasn’t going to be silent. I wasn’t going to be that scared little girl anymore.”

For a moment time felt endless- just the two of them in a tiny shack amidst a world of snow and rock. Ranboo’s throat was far too tight, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from Niki’s stiff form. He saw when she tentatively lifted her chin- saw the hesitance slumped in her shoulders; and the  _ fire _ in her eyes. 

“I did choose a side, Ranboo,” She whispered. “I did. And I’m sorry that hurt you. But I’m not sorry I did it.”

Their eyes were locked again, and Ranboo felt that familiar grasp of panic wrap a hand around his chest at the same time something bittersweet- guilt and love all at once- bubbled up into his throat. 

“...you aren’t a scared little girl,” Ranboo breathed. His voice came out scratchy and horse and just two steps too close to tears. “You’re so strong, Niki. So strong. Stronger than I’ll ever be.” 

“I m-miss you,” Niki choked out, hands rising to cover her mouth as she dissolved into tears. “I-I miss you so much, Ranboo.” The sunlight caught the crying, leaving trails of mirrors streaking down her cheeks. Ranboo could see his own tired face, his own pain reflected straight back like the harshest of wake up calls. 

He held out his arms and she ran into them. 

“I missed you too,” He whispered shakily, folding his too-tall too-long form around her smaller body, wrapping her up in the tightest hug he could manage. She clung back, arm around his neck, huddled close and for a second they both simply sobbed. Just two hurt friends desperately seeking comfort, desperately seeking something warm to hold them near. 

“I’m sorry,” She sniffled, and his voice cracked. 

“I’m sorry too.” 

Ranboo buried his face in her hair and pulled his friend nearer, as tight and close as he could manage. 

He took a deep, deep breath and slowly exhaled, and for the first time in a long time let himself relax. People were more important than sides. He could forgive Niki- forgive the person- instead of pushing her away because of the side she chose. 

“...are you joining Techno and Phil?” He asked softly, and she nodded against his chest. 

“Yes,” Niki’s voice was just as quiet. “I...I need this. I  _ need _ this.”

“...I know,” Ranboo murmured. And he did. Niki had fire, untamable fire. She would never settle down in a small shack with cats and peace, not like him. Ranboo didn’t have that flare, that light that she did. “They’re good. Good people.”

“I’m starting to believe that,” she agreed, and he could hear the strained smile in her voice. 

Perhaps sometimes a side was...what a person needed. Perhaps on occasion, a ‘side’ just meant a group of friends. 

Ranboo swallowed and shut off his mind and let himself enjoy this hug, this one special moment for as long as it lasted. 

He made a mental note to move Niki to the ‘Friends’ list. 

Friends. People. 

His people.

\---

“Philza!” 

A delighted exclamation cut through the fog that had been Phil’s mind as he’d made the effortless journey through the nether. The survivor tipped his chin up, taking in the decorative spread of blackstone that radiated outwards from the SMP community portal, searching for the familiar voice. The cold breeze of the wintery overworld wrapped around him, pushing away any lingering heat from the hellish dimension.

“Hello Will,” Phil greeted warmly as his eyes finally settled on the specter perched precariously on the wooden arch that framed the path to the ruins of the community house. 

“Ghostbur,” The spirit reprimanded with all the lightness and patience of a children’s teacher; smile wide. Phil winced a little, nodding absently. 

“Ghostbur,” He echoed half heartedly, eyes fixated on Ghostbur’s swinging legs and how they seemed to distort into fog and static below the knees, leaving his feet and ankles not quite in existence; meer wisps of greyish smoke that illuminated where limbs had once been. 

“What are you doing in the SMP, Phil?” Ghostbur asked, pushing himself off of the arch with his hands. He floated to the ground with all the grace of a slow falling potion, falling into ‘step’- see, floating alongside- Phil as the survivor began to make his way down the wooden path. 

“I’m looking for Techno,” Phil admitted, glancing around the area. It was as he remembered; the community center a ruin of shattered glass and scattered bricks, the various buildings thrown around in all various shapes and styles with all the wild flare of the people that resided within the land. Phil noticed that the odd red vines he’d seen periodically before the fall of L’manberg were far more present than before. They seemed almost to be spreading. He pushed the thought away, turning his head to focus on his ghostly companion. “You wouldn’t have happened to have seen him, would you?”

“Mmm…” Ghostbur tilted his head slightly as he floated along, white eyes gazing out blankly into the horizon. “Mmm...no. Nope! Haven’t seen Technoblade. Why would he be in the SMP, Phil? Don’t you live in the arctic? Oh- did the L’manberg people come to visit him again? Is there another cage?” The ghost frowned for a second. “That didn’t seem very nice.”

“We do live in the arctic,” Phil sighed, letting a familiar long-practiced patience settle over him. “And no, no one has come to capture Techno. And yes, it wasn’t very nice to put him in a cage. They tried to kill him.” 

“Oh…” Ghostbur’s frown deepened as a moment of silence settled over them before abruptly his face split back into a grin. “Let’s not talk about that, Phil. It’s very exciting that you’re here!”

“I’m just passing through,” Phil replied hesitantly, reluctantly letting the topic drop. He probably  _ should  _ be prodding Ghostbur to acknowledge more negative things and not to just ignore them. He just didn’t have the brain power-  _ the patience- _ to do that right now, not when Techno was MIA. 

“You seem sad,” Ghostbur announced, and Phil’s hand was abruptly and nonconsensually stuffed full of fluffy blue wool. “Have some blue!”

“Thanks Ghostbur,” Phil sighed, stepping carefully through the ruins of the community center and onto the prime path, making his way in the general direction of ‘L’manhole’, as he’d so tactfully heard it called. 

Ghostbur began to chatter- something about Tubbo and something about a tree, but Phil wasn’t completely listening. He let the soft voice-  _ Wilbur’s voice, _ even if the intonation was all wrong- wash over him and ground the anxious nerves that left his fingers itching for his sword and his heart beating just a pulse too quick. 

There was no sign of Techno as the two made their way down the wooden boardwalk. The buildings looked exactly as Phil remembered, save the occasional new creeper hole or a section of ground that had been overtaken by the creeping red weeds. It was odd to hear his own footsteps echo- heavy boots thudding dully against the wooden boards- when Ghostbur didn’t make a single sound, floating soundlessly above the world. 

“Are we still trying to bring me back?” Ghostbur asked innocently, startling Phil out of his daze. 

“Yes, we are,” Phil promised gently, shifting his head to eye the specter. “Do you still want to come back?”

“Oh, well I wouldn’t come back, would I?” Ghostbur corrected as casually as if he were stating the weather. “I’d be gone. Alivebur would come back.”

“...y-yes, I suppose,” Phil agreed hesitantly, flashing the ghost a faintly concerned look. “Do you still want to...to go through with the revival attempts, then?”

“....Mmm...yes, I think I do,” Ghostbur hummed softly, drifting through the air as effortlessly as a bee; sunflower yellow in his blue and blood stained sweater. “I think this world needs Alivebur more than it needs Ghostbur.” 

“I don’t know anymore,” Phil admitted, an edge of faint defeat creeping up into his voice despite himself. They ducked under an arch of red vines and wove their way through a small tunnel, the crater of L’manberg coming into view before them. “I don’t know what this world needs. This world is a mess.”

“...you’ll look after Friend, right?” Ghostbur asked, voice unusually small. He’d stopped midair, transfixed by the sight of the battlefield. “Even if Alivebur doesn’t care about him?”

“...I’ll make sure Friend has a safe place to stay,” Phil promised, and Ghostburt squared his shoulders and nodded with a determination so alike to Phil’s son that the survivor lost his breath for a second. 

“Good,” Ghostbur declared, and for a moment his eyes were narrowed- for a moment his voice held conviction and grim certainty and there was no levity, no lightness. 

Then it was gone, and Ghostbur was smiling up at him with a puppy’s innocence and gentle, soft eyes. 

“I’ll be on my way then, Phil!” He waved cheerfully. “It was nice seeing you.”

“...nice seeing you, Ghostbur,” Phil managed around a dry throat and a painfully clenched heart. “Stay safe.” 

“Always will!” Ghostbur laughed and waved once more, and Phil stood there watching the spirit float away until the echo of his son was long out of sight. 

Finally the survivor turned back to face the crater, a strained, exhausted sigh escaping his lips. The sun was barely midday in the sky, and yet his entire body screamed for sleep and freedom from this day of emotional turmoil. He swallowed and coughed lightly, clearing his throat, and squared his shoulders. The goal was to find Techno. 

Phil strode off down the crumbling section of prime path that snaked its way past where L’manberg had once stood. It was a mess of gaping holes and cracked boards, but he still scanned his communicator as he maneuvered the minefield of broken wood. Techno hadn’t said a word, hadn’t replied to any of his messages. It was starting to get very genuinely concerning. 

Phil looked around as he tucked the communicator away, again looking for any sign his friend had been hanging around the crater, for whatever reason. He saw nothing but the general mess of rubble, and he pinched his lips, agitation building. 

Movement caught his eye, and Phil turned his head sharply, gaze fixing on a man around the edge of the crater’s circle. It took a moment for the sight to register- a suit and tousled hair, standing back behind one of the only completely unharmed buildings in the area. 

“Manifold,” Phil called out loudly, and the man froze. 

“....Heyyyy, Philza!” Jack spun, arms spread out in a welcoming gesture, voice light and forced with all the levity of a man terrified out of his mind and quaking with hatred. He looked worn down- suit torn in places and scuffed with dirt, hair tumbling over his glasses. His smile was as wide as ever. “Long time no see, buddy.”

“Jack,” Phil sighed, quickening his pace and skirting around a loose chunk of broken concrete as he neared the other man. “I’m looking for Technoblade.”

Jack Manifold abruptly paled a few shades passed ‘blanched’ and chuckled nervously, hands quickly shoved deep into his pockets. He shuffled with an anxious energy, his deceptively shiny dress shoes grinding their way down against the ruddy dirty. 

“M-man I don’t know why you think I know where The Blade is,” Manifold chuckled, with all the humor of a sheep corned by a wild hound. He was a ball of nervous energy and Philza resisted the urge to rub his temples. He was exhausted and fucking stressed and did  _ not _ want to play games with the jumpy president of ‘Manifold Land’ or whatever he called his one man country. 

_ “Manifold,” _ Phil ground out sharply-

_ “OH MANIFOLD!” Techno laughed; voice booming as loud as the explosions, sword raised and pointed directly at the man who’d dared to face off against him.  _

-and something in Jack’s expression snapped. 

Phil had expected fear, perhaps. That was how Manifold had reacted so far, anyways. Anxiety barely hidden by a thin veil of false friendliness. But abruptly Jack’s expression went from fearful to  _ cold.  _

“...Listen here Philza Minecraft,” Jack said with a voice so steady that Phil halted for a moment, startled. The man had genuine fire in his tone- a low, simmering anger. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage? How about you leave me and my home the fuck alone.”

Phil glanced side to side- at the house to his left and the desolate crater not ten paces to his right. It was a pathetic sight, and Philza wasn’t sure if he felt guilt or pity for this man who was clinging to all he had left. 

“I’m not here to fight, Jack,” Phil tried, making an effort to soften his tone. “I’m really not. I’m just looking for Techno.”

“Maybe he’s off blowing up another fucking city,” Manifold snapped- bitter and quiet and resigned. He turned to the side, arms crossed, staring out across the wasteland of L’manberg. Phil watched him silently, an odd lump in his throat. 

A silence settled over them; awkward and desolate, and Phil listened to the whistle of the wind through the cracks of rock. 

“He came here early in the morning yesterday,” Jack grumbled with an air of tired defeat. “Man on a mission and all that. Sun was barely even rising. Had his trident, headed straight to that little mountain over yonder.”

Manifold turned to point past the houses, out at the waterfront a ways away. Phil tracked his gaze across the grass, past the water, to the faint shadow of a small mountain on the horizon. 

“...thank you,” Phil said cautiously, walking on glass. 

“Sure,” Jack grumbled, and another moment of stiff silence filled the filtered air. 

Phil turned and walked away, making his way past the ruined prime path and towards the water. He glanced back once, to see the silhouette of a tired man in a cheap suit coat staring out across the wasteland of what had once been his neighbouring country.    
  
_ “Man if he’s the only citizen of his ‘country’- we don’t gotta blow up his house, that’s just sad.” Techno’s words were met with resounding, slightly strained laughter from the various people scattered around- all fighting long over, having well reached the point of useless. _

_ “Don’t blow up my house,” Manifold protested- pleaded more like, face too pale and hands shaking slightly despite the edge of snark that seemed permanently etched into his voice.  _

_ “I’m not gonna blow it up-” Techno waved a hand away, turning his head for the first time to actually take in the Manifold property. “Wait- YOUR HOUSE WASN’T EVEN TOUCHED!”  _

_ Heads swung around to look at the miraculously unharmed house, only a few meters from the edge of the crater.  _

_ “Heh, yeah…” Jack murmured, eyes wide with a kind of startled relief.  _

_ “I can blow it up if you really want,” Techno offered, faux innocent. “I have lots of extra tnt-” _

_ “No!” Jack yelped, with an expression far too akin to a wounded puppy. “No no no, that’s- that’s not necessary.” _

_ “Suit yourself,” Techno laughed, turning away from the man to watch their ally far above, on scaffolding of glittering obsidian. “Dream’s really going ham, huh.”  _

_ “He is.” Phil laughed faintly, glancing down into the crater to see the faintest sight of streaked white and black finally peek out from beneath the endless grey stone. “To bedrock, you said.” _

_ “To bedrock.” Techno grinned.  _

  
  
  


The mountain was annoying to climb. Phil faintly remembered Techno mentioning it in the past- apparently he and Dream had their meetups there, long before Phil had ever set foot on the SMP land. He had to begrudgingly admit that he wasn’t particularly surprised. 

Why would Dream, and Techno meet anywhere else but the snowy caps of a cliff? 

Phil was resolutely  _ not _ thinking about many things as he cursed lightly under his breath, struggling to reach a hand hold. His chest was an uncomfortable cesspool of difficult emotions. Guilt and concern and fear and fatigue all sat heavy on the edge of his tongue. Worry about Techno’s radio silence and Manifold’s burning anger and Wil- Ghostbur’s quiet naivety- 

Phil let out a slow, deep breath and tried to ignore how shaky it was. He could pretend it was just due to the physical exercise. 

His fingers sunk deep into snow, and he winced at the sting as he managed a clumsy grip on the rocks and grass and finally pulled himself up over the lip and onto the flat plateau of the ridge. Taking a second to catch his breath, Phil pushed himself up to his feet and raised his head to glance around. 

The view from the top of the mountain was idyllic, truly. A wide expanse of clear sky and shimmering ocean that stretched out in endless silken waves until they met at the distant horizon. 

Philza saw none of it. Instead what he focused on was the netherite sword embedded in the ground, at the cliff edge of the precipice. 

It was picturesque. The violet blade was plunged deep into the shimmering snow and further into the earth, and the faint magenta shine of enchantments made the very ground around the blade seem somehow magical. The streaks of diamond that interwove with the blackened metal caught the sunlight and shone with a brilliant, dazzling reflection. It seemed to almost glow against the backdrop of sunlight and clouds.

It looked like something out of a story book- the ones Phil had read Wilbur when he was a boy. A sword in a rock that could only be removed by the chosen one. The blade destined to slay a dragon, carried only by the hero. 

The sword stood there innocently; beautiful and unliving and thrust into the ground and Philza felt so  _ terribly cold. _

__ He took three rushed steps forward, and his hand reached down, closing around the worn leather of the blade. He yanked it free from the ground, watching wordlessly as clumps of grass and snow slipped from the shining metal. 

There was not a speck of blood, not one drop of red amongst the sea of perfect white around him. 

Phil clutched Technoblade’s sword and trembled faintly, and for the first time since he’d held his son’s corpse, Philza felt rage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write for some reason, but I'm glad I got through. Some side character interactions!
> 
> Philza's mad, what will he do.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, you're all amazing and seriously make my days


	6. Chapter 6

A hand was shaking Techno’s shoulder. 

He winced internally- a tired, creeping annoyance bubbling up into his chest- and yet all the anarchist wanted to do was to simply slip into sleep once more. 

_ Someone is touching you. Shaking you! Wake! Wake you idiot. _

“...go away,” Techno rasped, eyes firmly shut, tongue as clumsy as cotton in his dry mouth. He squeezed his eyes tighter, not quite sure if he was talking to that annoying part of his mind or the hand with fingers digging just a hair too tightly into his arm. 

“I would say I gave you too much, but you’re much more manageable like this,” A familiar voice chuckled. The sound echoed the slightest bit, a rumble of sound that bounced off of stone walls. The words itched at the forefront of Techno’s thoughts, scraping their way harshly into his muddled consciousness like nails on a chalkboard. 

He was still far too cold, his limbs heavy. But the ground was uncomfortable and stiff beneath him and ever so slowly Techno could feel the desire to sleep creeping away, like a blanket was being dragged off his head- agonizingly slowly. 

Something felt so incredibly  _ wrong, _ but he wasn’t sure he could open his eyes to see what. 

“Come on, Technoblade.” The voice hummed, light and eerily unconcerned, an almost sing-songy quality to the words. Irritation sparked a flash of deep heat in Techno’s chest. They sounded patronizing, those words. He hated being mocked. 

“Where am...I?” Techno murmured, not quite able to muster up proper, rational concern even as something pinged in the back of his mind-  _ unfamiliar, dangerous, wrong. _

“You could see if you opened your eyes,” The voice laughed. The hand on his shoulder squeezed and Techno realized with a jolt that the person whose name felt on the tip of his tongue had never let go of him. His body flinched reflexively, uncomfortable with the contact. 

It took more effort then anything Techno could truly remember, but he managed to slowly crack his eyes open. His vision flooded with blackstone and something like it but shinier-  _ obsidian, not good- _ and soon his tired eyes focused on a blurry figure that was crouched beside him. Techno was lying on the ground. 

“There we go,” The person soothed, honey sweet and gentle, as though he were speaking to a child. Techno winced and blinked, but his vision didn’t clear. The world of dark rock and faintly orange colored light swayed before his eyes. “You’re really quite drugged out right now.”

“Oh,” Techno mumbled faintly. Well that would explain the blurring. It was beginning to itch, how familiar the voice was. His temples were starting to throb with an incoming headache. He tried to lift his hand to his face, but the air filled abruptly with an ear splitting scraping sound so loud that Techno flinched, a bolt of pain exploding through his head. 

_ Listen. Listen to us. _

Techno winced, eyes shut as tight as he could to block out the blurry world and the sickening orange glow. It was hard to think beyond his rolling stomach and the migraine cracking his skull in two. Was this how dying felt?

_ You must wake. You must. _

“I  _ am _ awake..” Techno hissed angrily, and his raspy, slurred voice sounded delirious as it echoed in his own ears. His companion made a questioning noise from beside him. 

_ No, _ argued his- his thoughts? The part of his brain that kept nagging and nagging and-  _ You are not safe.  _

“Easy, Techno,” The person soothed, uncaring for the conversation Techno was having in his mind. The man’s voice overlapped with the demanding thoughts, and Techno found himself in a daze trying to pay attention to both at the same time. Techno felt soft fingers brush through his hair, and something inside of him cringed even as his exhausted body remained motionless. “I never thought I’d see the day. You’re just  _ lying _ here.” 

The person laughed- incredulous and oddly victorious and it made Techno’s head flare with agony once more. Those damn fingers kept up their slow, gentle strokes; brushing strands of hair from his cheek and tucking it behind a pointed ear. Who was this? Surely it had to be a friend, if they were touching him like this. With such care, even if it sent chills through Techno’s whole body.

  1. _NONO._



A tiny whimper escaped Techno’s lips as his brain began to  _ scream _ in protest, louder than Techno had ever heard any thought. It felt almost tangible, physical- and the panic in the words flooded his own body against his will, as though he were feeling someone else’s emotions, someone else’s desperation. 

_ BAD. GET UP. GET UP!  _

A burst of adrenaline coincided with the absolute shriek of the voices in his head- which were decidedly not his own, he was now certain. With a strength he wasn’t sure his body actually had, Techno shoved himself upwards onto his hands and knees and threw his entire body back, away from the man beside him. The person let out a startled gasp and snapped back, quick as a spring as Techno’s back collided with a wall. He slid down it until he was sitting, gasping faintly as his head flooded with relief and more panic and anger and-

_ Good. Good! Not good! Awake. Trapped. Still drugged. We will pass out. We will escape! _

Techno panted lightly, blinking frantically to clear his vision. It wasn’t  _ working. _ Everything was a smudge of black stone and orange light and- and green. 

__

Technoblade tilted his head back to rest against the wall- shivering slightly, his body was cold, his wrists and arms were heavy- and managed to get the figure in front of him to come enough into focus that he could make out the green and brown attire- hood down and pooled around his neck, sandy hair sticking up wildly above a face obscured in white. 

_ BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! _ His head shrieked with anger, and Techno was abruptly flooded with a reminder of what had happened- how long ago? How fucking long ago did he drink that potion?

“Techno?” Dream asked with a tilt of his head, something faintly amused coloring his words. Techno’s skin crawled. 

“I’m going to fucking  _ kill _ you,” Techno hissed breathlessly, and he hadn’t know what to expect as a reaction- but it definitely wasn’t Dream throwing his head back and  _ laughing. _

The hysterical sound bounced around the walls and Techno flinched, head rearing up in pain. 

_ Kill him. Kill him! Traitor. Betrayal. He hurt Tommy. HE HURT US. Where is Philza? Trapped. _

“Techno you couldn’t stand if you  _ tried,” _ Dream snickered- soft and amused and dripping with sympathy, making a mockery of a parent gently letting down an overambitious child. “I’m surprised you can even see straight. Besides, you couldn’t reach me.”

“I’ll strangle you with my bare hands,” Techno snarled, tramping down the horrible realization that Dream was probably  _ right. _ He wasn’t sure he could even get to his knees again, with his horrible, clumsy, heavy body. His head roared agreement with the death threat and howled concern about their predicament. 

Another spike of not-his not-right adrenaline shot through Techno’s body as the voices let out a particularly vicious shriek, and the anarchist lunged forward, throwing his body at Dream. The air filled with that horrible scrape from before, and for a split second Techno relished in the way Dream reflexively jumped back, startled. Then Techno’s body abruptly and violently came to a halt, horrible pain jolting through his wrists as his momentum stopped and his body crashed to the floor with way too much noise for his squishy, mostly-human form.

Techno let out a faint, confused groan of pain, and he heard Dream snicker from across the room. The cold stone stung against his cheek as Techno turned his head, lifting one of his throbbing wrists to look at it. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes settled on the thick metal cuffs encircling just below his palm. He tugged his wrist forward and it caught- the chain hanging off of the cuff completely taught. 

With a sense of numb shock, Techno blearily turned to look at the wall, where the other end of the chain was thrust deep into the shell of obsidian. His other wrist was bound exactly the same, twin chains keeping him on- on a fucking  _ leash. _

“I told you that you couldn’t reach me.” Dream’s voice was back to smug and absolutely  _ dripping _ with false sympathy.

_ “Why?” _ Techno blurted, and his voice came out shaky and strained and dangerously close to panicked. “Why- we- we were fucking  _ allies _ , Dream, like a few weeks ago!” He swung his head around to look back up at the green-cloaked man, not quite comprehending the situation. His head ached, and his mind was still buzzing like a bee hive and his body was still so  _ slow. _

Dream’s head tilted consideringly for a moment, before a tiny, genuine smile quirked across his lips. “I know,” The man agreed, and he sounded nostalgic. Like their destruction of L’manberg was a distant, pleasant memory. “But Techno- you hold so much  _ leverage.” _

“...what?” Techno protested, the words flying right over his head. “What? That makes no sense. That makes no sense, Dream. Let me fucking go.” Techno jolted his body, yanking his hands away from the wall. The chains rattled and the metal- too black for iron-  _ netherite? _ dug into the skin of his wrists, causing the piglin hybrid to let out a hiss of pain. 

“...I think you should go back to sleep,” Dream murmured, eyes fixated on the chains that the anarchist was attempting to free himself from. “It’ll be alright, Techno. You’ll probably be happy, honestly. Just constantly asleep. I don’t need you conscious.” 

_ “No,” _ Techno ground out, rearing back from the other man as Dream drew a bottle from his pocket. It glinted sinisterly in the low light- the same sickeningly dull blue as before. “Get that away from me. You are not  _ drugging _ me again-” 

“Goodnight, Technoblade,” Dream hummed, and hurled the bottle. Techno lunged away from it, but the glass still exploded against the obsidian only a few feet to his right with a sharp crash and a deceptively delicate tinkling sound. And when a split second later Techno’s vision began to blur at the edges once more, he knew he’d already inhaled the fumes. 

“DREAM!” Techno yelled furiously, and his voice cracked- a bolt of genuine fear rocketing down his spine. The green man turned away, striding casually towards the source of the orange glow, ignoring him. “You- you-” 

“It’s okay Techno,” Dream glanced over his shoulder as he strode towards a wall of lava that made up the far wall. The light glittered- silhouetting the admin’s form, the heat from the liquid creating hazy waves that seemed to dance around Dream’s already distorting form. The admin tilted his head slightly, a small smile spreading across his lips. “It’s okay. You can sleep. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

_ “Coward,” _ Techno hissed, blinking rapidly, desperately trying to keep his focus on the growing smudge of green. His hands were shaking violently, his temple pounding. “You- you are  _ pathetic, _ you are nothing-”

Techno’s voice stuttered out into a trembling gasp as he slumped backwards, shoulders hitting the wall hard as his body began to sink back into that horrible, numb exhaustion. “D-don’t do this,” The anarchist begged, reaching down to claw futilely at his netherite shackles. 

_ Stay awake! Kill him. BlOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! He drugged us again. Technowake. Make him pay! _

Dream’s chuckle sounded so warm and calm as it rumbled around the small room- the cell. Yet the sound simply chilled the piglin to the core, left his entire body trembling with rage and  _ panic. _

The wall of lava parted, and Techno watched limply through fading eyesight as the admin stepped through the gap without another look back. Crimson eyes stared blankly- each blink getting slower and heavier, struggling with each second to keep from closing as the murky orange mantle slowly reclosed, leaving only a wall of heat that Techno couldn’t feel in Dream’s wake. 

“Fuck,” Techno whispered, and his hands felt limply into his lap as he sagged against the wall, limbs too heavy to lift and mind too dizzy to fight. The voices had blurred together into a mass of buzzing noise that Techno couldn’t distinguish- he could only feel their desperation and fury and panic settled deep in his chest as his own emotions began to go numb and fade. 

_ “I don’t need you conscious.” _

Techno’s heart skipped a beat, and he wondered with a sudden horrific terror if he was ever going to wake up again. Wondered if Dream was just going to keep him in a constant drugged state. His mind suddenly screamed with a desperate fear and he needed to get up, needed to fucking  _ get out- _

But his body was already far too gone, and against his will, Technoblade’s eyes slipped shut, and did not reopen. 

He lay there, the cold stone digging into his back, the netherite painfully tight around his wrists and Techno could feel himself slipping. Listened as the bubbling of lava and the sound of his own labored breathing and the voices cacophony faded- got softer and softer and more distant until the sound echoed down a distant, endless tunnel. 

More than ever before- more than in the stagnant air of Pogtopia or the chilled solitude of the arctic- Techno felt alone. 

And a raspy breath later, his world went silent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels oddly poorly written :/
> 
> TECHNO AINT HAVIN' A GOOD TIME
> 
> Ya'll leave the best comments I've ever seen on a fic, thank you <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: LIKE REALLY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ. I need to clarify some character relationships, because from some of the comments, I get the sense people are confused. 
> 
> Technoblade and Tommyinnit are not family. They are not family to each other, nor are they family to Wilbur or Phil. 
> 
> Technoblade and Phil do NOT have a father/son relationship, they have an incredibly tight friendship/partnership, perhaps comparable to brothers, though neither one call it that.
> 
> Neither Techno or Phil have ever met Tommy before joining this server. Even though there are references to the Antarctic Empire and SMP Earth, neither Wilbur nor Tommy were present then in this story. Phil is not a father-figure to Tommy, nor has he ever really spent any time with Tommy. The most Phil knows about Tommy is the letters Wilbur used to send him and the brief moments of seeing him on the server. 
> 
> Techno first met Tommy in Pogtopia. Techno came to help Pogtopia because he was acquaintances (friends) with Wilbur prior to the server, and because he was friends with Phil and Wilbur was Phil's son.
> 
> Wilbur and Tommy are not family, but were friends for awhile and Wilbur thinks (thought) incredibly fondly of Tommy. Their relationship could have once been one of brothers.
> 
> THE ONLY BIOLOGICAL FAMILY is Phil- father of Wilbur, and Wilbur- father of Fundy.

Philza wasn’t quite seeing straight as he slammed the door to the arctic cabin open with a deafening  _ ‘BANG’, _ nearly throwing the poor thing off its hinges as he stormed into the interior in a flashing swirl of green and grey robes, whistling wind and churning snow.

He took a shuddering breath as his eyes settled on the two stunned young adults across the room, sitting near the fire- staring up at him with wide, concerned eyes and expressions that seemed to war between concern, apprehension and anxiety. 

“...Phil?” Ranboo spoke up tentatively, and Phil’s fingers clenched painfully tight around the sword in his hand, the one he’d been unable to release. He needed to do something. He needed to  _ find Techno, _ he didn’t have time to stand here and panic and be angry-

In his stupor, Phil missed the soft footsteps approaching, his entire body tensing and flinching like a snapped coil as a hand settled very gently on his shoulder. Phil blinked to clear the haze from his eyes, tilting his head up to meet the faintest of green and red glows that hung around Ranboo’s face like a wispy mist. 

“Phil,” Ranboo said, and even as the teen’s voice seemed to tremble with apprehension, it still sounded firm. Grounding. Scared to death and the teen still managed to be a rock, be calm and rational. “Phil, you’re breathing all wrong. It’s okay, come inside.” 

Phil felt an odd sense of numb detachment as Ranboo pulled him deeper into the house. He saw Niki cautiously stand out of the corner of his vision, the magenta haired woman pulling the front door shut with a tiny click.

Ranboo pulled him to stand beside the fire, and the warmth radiating from the flames caused a shudder through Phil’s entire body. He’d been so cold, from the moment he’d reached the summit of that mountain. 

His knuckles were white against the leather hilt of Techno’s sword, and Phil saw Ranboo’s gaze flick down to the weapon, concern flashing like dread across his face before the teen turned to look at Niki. 

Philza stared at the flames, letting the other two have their silent conversation as he struggled to get his breathing back under control, to steady out the rapid inhales and exhales until his head stopped spinning. 

The entire trip back from L’manberg was a daze he could hardly remember. 

“Techno has been captured,” He managed through numb lips. He felt, not saw the other two freeze. 

“...what?” Ranboo’s voice shattered Phil’s tiny strand of calm he was still desperately clinging to. “There’s no way. How- you can’t- you can’t  _ capture _ Techno.” 

“Well APPARENTLY YOU CAN!” Phil shouted, whirling and grabbing the nearest object- a ceramic mug from the table- and hurling it at the wall. It exploded into a thousand baby blue crystal fragments, tumbling to the ground in a small puddle of rubble and dust. 

“O-okay- Okay, Phil.” Niki’s wavering, nervous voice cut through the fog that was Phil’s fury, and he felt a soft hand settle on his arm, pushing down until the elder man crumpled to the floor. “There we go. It’ll be okay, Phil, deep breaths.”

Niki’s soft words and delicate tone were such a juxtaposition to the swirling panic deep in Phil’s chest that he let himself slump forward until his forehead touched the woman’s shoulder. One of Niki’s arms rose to wrap around his back, and the half hug slowly sucked the cold from Phil’s body, left him drained and exhausted and scared half to death. 

“He was gone,” Phil whispered, clenching his shaking hand into a fist, shifting his arm to rest the sword across his lap. “There was nothing, no sign of a fight, no blood, no footprints-  _ nothing. _ Just the sword left behind, stuck in the ground, like- like a fucking  _ message.” _ He spit the word like the visceral poison it was. 

Niki’s arm squeezed around his shoulders. 

“...fuck,” Phil heard Ranboo say- and the teen’s voice was faint and wavering. Distressed in a way that made Phil’s heart ache to soothe, except he felt just as bad, just as hopelessly and furiously lost. Never,  _ never _ had this happened. Even in the middle of war, even in a fight to the death, Technoblade was never truly in danger. He was the most capable man Phil knew; he was a living myth, he had  _ never died. _

Phil had never felt the need for true worry about his friend beyond token concern. He had an out for every situation. Even in the ridiculously bad situation of the Butcher Army’s execution, Techno had pulled the impossible, had a totem. 

Phil was used to worrying about Wilbur, and his son’s wild ambitions and reckless abandon. He was used to worrying now about Ranboo, and the kid’s uncanny ability to hide incredibly damaging things and never admit when something was wrong.

But never had he truly, sincerely worried about Techno’s safety. It was an objective fact, that Techno was okay. 

For the first time since Wilbur had turned to face him in that dark, decrepit room deep beneath L’manberg, with an expression bleeding hate and pain and mania and  _ desperation- _ Phil felt scared. 

“I’m sorry, Phil,” He felt more than heard Niki whisper, the faintest hint of her hair brushing his cheek. Her fingers were clutching his cloak with a desperation that mirrored his own pounding heart and Phil let out a shuddering breath, finally prying his stiff fingers off of Techno’s sword and raising his shaking arms to hug Niki back, clinging to the woman with a rare moment of trembling vulnerability. She squeezed back, and Phil let himself have this second of absolute weakness, let Niki hold him upright. 

“...Techno’s strong,” Ranboo murmured, and Phil focused on those words, on the objective truth of them. “He is. He’ll be okay, Phil. We can find him.” There was a subtle determination in the ender hybrid’s voice. Not blazing, like Niki’s- or passionate, like Wilbur’s, but there was conviction. Certainty, an unwillingness to back down. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Phil breathed, very gently detangling himself from Niki, leaning backwards. “I didn’t mean to-” He inhaled shakily. “You’re both too young to see an old man like me fall apart.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Niki chuckled humorlessly, and Phil’s heart panged at the words. Her expression softened however, her hands resting gently on the survivor’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Phil. It’s okay. You’re not alone. I came out here because Techno gave me a chance, because he put trust in me. I’m here to help you, and that’s not changing just because there’s a crisis.” 

“I think Dream took him,” Phil exhaled in a rush, looking down at the sword in his lap. “This was on the mountain by the SMP that Techno said he and Dream met at in the past. It was where Dream gave Techno the woodland mansion map to get his totems.”

_ “Totems, _ plural?” Ranboo blurted from across the room. “That- that thing he did, at the…” Ranboo trailed off and winced before finishing; “Execution?”

“Yeah.” Phil nodded and leaned back, finally fully pulling away from Niki’s hold. The woman settled her hands in her lap, squeezing her own fingers nervously, and Phil gave her as grateful and reassuring of a smile as he could manage. “But the sword was left there. And Dream’s really the only person that could maybe take Techno in a fight. Not that there seemed to be a fight.”

“...I thought Dream was an ally of you guys?” Niki asked hesitantly. 

“L’manberg was a one time thing. Mutual goals,” Phil murmured, leaning back against the wall tiredly. “Techno and Dream have always gotten along, more or less, but they were never on a side together. And they certainly weren’t working together when Tommy was here.” 

Phil glanced up, and observed that both of his companions had incredibly different expressions when the name ‘Tommy’ hung heavy in the air. Ranboo looked sad, and vaguely guilty- hands twisting each other in a nervous tick. Niki looked furious, her own fingers clenching the hem of her trench coat so tight her knuckles had gone white. 

Phil had to do an abrupt double take, because for a second his mudded mind screamed  _ Wilbur _ at the burning fire in Niki’s eyes- the thin, pinched line of her lips and the dreaded attire of a trenchcoat where once there had been colorful clothes. 

He shook it away and took a deep breath. He was already in an anxious rut, Phil couldn’t let thoughts of Will get the better of him now. 

“Why would D-Dream take Techno?” Ranboo stuttered, glancing towards the door apprehensively, as though saying the admin’s name might summon him. “If they were amicable, at least.”

“Because Techno’s a threat, I suppose,” Phil murmured, looking back down. “Maybe he feared Techno would think his authority constituted a government or a monarchy or something. Maybe he just didn’t want to fight him.”

“But why not just kill him then?” Niki said softly, and her words felt like ice in Phil’s chest. His entire body went abruptly numb. “I...I’m sorry, Phil. I didn’t- shit.” The girl sighed and tugged at the end of her ponytail, teeth gnawing at her lip. “But it’s true. If Dream wanted Techno gone, you- you would’ve found a  _ body, _ not a sword.”

“That’s good right?” Ranboo interjected. “That Dream- Dream doesn’t want him dead, then. It means we can find him. Techno can’t be that far away, it’s only been like a day.” 

“But we don’t  _ know,” _ Phil hissed, tugging at a strand of hair in distress. “If Dream hasn’t killed him, that means he’s keeping him for a damn reason. And I- I don’t want to know what that reason  _ is _ because it  _ cannot _ be good.” The eldest buried his face in his hands, composing himself slowly, shoulders rising and falling with each slow breath. 

“So...we find him fast,” Niki suggested softly, chewing on a nail and fixing Phil with her too intelligent eyes. “If Techno is captured for a reason- that reason will take time, right? So we get him before that. Or maybe he won’t even need help. He might just show up at the house tomorrow wondering why we’re all freaked out.”

Despite himself, Phil let out a startled, slightly hysterical chuckle. 

“Oh I can imagine that,” he murmured, smiling faintly. “Just showing up the next morning and going  _ ‘You all got incredibly freaked out about nothin’, it’s kinda annoyin’.” _

__ “Exactly,” Niki giggled, and the levity was so unbelievably false, but fuck, they were trying. 

“There’s someone outside,” Ranboo interrupted, and the room abruptly went cold- laughters snuffed out instantly like candles in a storm.

“...what?” Phil repeated dumbly, head whirling to stare the enderman hybrid down. Ranboo’s gaze was fixated out the window, but his eyes were glazed over and almost unseeing. His green eye seemed to flash. “Who?” 

“I don’t know,” Ranboo murmured, but Phil was already on his feet, Techno’s sword back in his hand. 

“Niki, can you back me up from the house?” Phil quickly asked. 

“Yes,” The woman nodded thickly- her face was too pale, but her lips pinched with determination, and Phil carefully made his way towards the door as Niki drew her own sword. 

Ranboo was still staring blankly at the snow filled world outside, and Phil took a deep breath, shooting Niki a silent request to protect the teen who didn’t seem completely present. Niki nodded right back, taking a few steps to the side until her body defensively shielded the ender hybrid from view. 

Taking one last, steadying breath, Phil let his mask of calm detachment settle fully over him- wiping his face of emotion, his shoulders lowering and relaxing with a false tranquility. 

He had never hated more that he only had that skill thanks to Technoblade. 

  
  
  


Phil emerged from the building in a swirl of snow. He was the only person to leave the cabin, shutting the door behind him as he head turned, eyes sweeping the surrounding area with a narrowed gaze and a pinched, mildly annoyed expression. 

Technoblade’s sword shone in his hand, glinting in the dull sunlight and casting a faint violet shine across the survivor’s grey-green attire. 

“Show yourself,” Phil demanded coldly, his voice ringing with a deafening echo across the rolling hills of snow and frost. The words held a power- and yet were only met with a faint chuckle. Soft and faintly amused, yet chillingly audible in the silence of the tundra. 

“Philza,” Dream greeted, emerging from the distant trees in a flurry of snapping emerald fabric and splayed, gloved hands- upturned towards the sky in a genial greeting. “You seem on edge.”

A moment of taut silence settled heavy in the air. Philza’s gaze seemed to burn; heavy and cold and  _ blazing _ with an anger that might have taken the breath away from a lesser man. 

“...how  _ dare _ you come here,” Phil snarled, and Dream couldn’t have helped the blinding smile that spread across his lips if he’d tried. 

“Pardon?” Dream laughed, tilting his head, uncaring for how his wide grin so obviously revealed the false concern in his tone. He felt lighter than he had in ages. “You seem incredibly on edge-”

Now the admin was quite aware that Philza was an impressive man. He’d heard the stories- seen it himself as the man flew through the explosions of L’manberg with the grace of bird and the light footedness of a cat; withers forming in his wake even as the survivor managed to emerge utterly unscathed, swathed in the glow of potion hues. 

But Dream decided that the first time he truly saw the  _ Angel of Death _ was right then, as Phil’s arm raised; fist clenched tight around a swirl of greenish blue. The enderpearl exploded into the snow with a blast of flurried white thrown to the sky, barely a foot in front of the admin. Dream jumped back instinctively, startled- and Phil  _ appeared _ in a glow of blue and an explosion of purple particles, Technoblade’s sword swinging in an effortless, brilliant slash of purple-black. 

Dream was familiar with expressions of hatred. He’d seen it twist itself into resigned existence on Tommy’s dirty, tired face. He’d seen it shine in Tubbo’s smokey, dull gaze as the president of nothing looked up at him from the crater of a lost nation. He’d seen it glow in Techno’s unnaturally crimson eyes as the piglin crumpled to his knees.

But the most unrivaled face of pure hatred Dream had ever seen was on Wilbur Soot. Wilbur the revolutionary, Wilbur the general- Wilbur the broken, exhausted,  _ powerless _ man. 

Despite Phil’s golden hair swirling around his neck and his green eyes as bright as emerald and so  _ different _ from the golden brown of the long gone leader of L’manberg- despite that  _ all- _ for a split second Dream was so  _ certain  _ it was Wilbur aiming a sword directly at his throat. 

Hatred ran so deep in this family, a part of Dream hummed, fascinated. This blasted family, that would never back down. 

“...rude,” Dream said with a breathless excitement, tramping down on the urge to laugh. He could feel his Adam's apple brush the tip of gleaming netherite, and a brilliant thrill of adrenaline and panic and allure exploded in his chest, left his heart pounding. 

“You are a fool,” Phil laughed humorlessly, voice dry and cold and sharp as ice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? I didn’t think you had a  _ death wish, _ Dream. I thought you were a smart man.”

“You could kill me,” Dream admitted, unconcerned. He leaned his head back an inch and raised his hand- letting the tip of his middle finger press against the point of the sword. Pain flashed through the digit, and Dream felt the cool, slick sensation of a drop of blood rolling down his finger, over his knuckles and slipping down his wrist. “You could, Phil. I believe that.”

“So you  _ do  _ have a death wish,” The survivor breathed, and Dream was transfixed. Phil’s eyes almost seemed to  _ glow _ with the pure undenyable fury held within them. “State your case, Dream.  _ Plead. _ Tell me why I don’t slit your fucking throat right this instant.”

“That’s easy,” Dream whispered, a smile twisting his lips. For a breathless moment, the world seemed still and silent and it was just the two of them, ankle deep in snow- panting with anger and adrenaline. “That’s so easy. Without me? Technoblade will never see the light of day again.” 

Timeless eternity, hanging in the air with such a fragile grip. A single drop of water on the lightest tip of a rock, held suspended above a motionless pool of glass, not a ripple in sight. 

Dream inhaled shakily, grin widening as that drop fell, and the admin could almost  _ hear _ the glass shatter, could feel the cold wind rush in as time leapt forward at a breakneck pace. 

“...you will regret ever touching him,” Phil hissed, and his body was so tense, wound so tightly with rage that Dream could see his hand trembling, could feel the sword jolting minutely against his hand- the only shelter between the blade and his vulnerable neck. 

“I don’t think I will,” Dream replied gently. Softening his tone, talking to a wounded, scared animal with the sugar sweet compassion. Slowly,  _ ever _ so slowly, Dream moved his hand, leading the blade away from his neck and to the side with only a single finger. 

Phil did not fight it, and the survivor’s eyes never looked away from Dream’s mask, even as Dream could feel another bead of blood trail it’s way innocently across his skin. 

“Phil, you are an incredible man.” Dream smiled, benign and mild. “You’ve conquered nations and created your own. You’ve survived against impossible odds. You are  _ legend.” _

Dream pushed the sword further to his right and stepped forward, closing the distance between them until the soft puffs of fog that escaped their lips in the frigid environment melded into a single cloud between them.  _ “The angel of death.  _ What a mantle to have.”

Phil watched him with a cold indifference and a cacophonous rage, letting him monologue. Something deep in Dream’s chest preened with satisfaction. Finally he could say his piece. 

“I admire so much about you, Philza,” Dream whispered, and it felt almost as though Phil could see straight through the mask with how his eyes met perfectly with Dream’s own. “But you have one, painful,  _ critical _ flaw.

“You are  _ attached.” _

Dream observed the Angel carefully. Watched the realization flood behind Phil’s eyes and watched with enraptured fascination as how even when Phil came to terms with the situation, it did nothing to quelch the hatred burning inside him. 

“You and Techno could be so much,” Dream breathed, “If you didn’t have each other.”

“...you know nothing,” Phil murmured, seemingly finally finding his voice. Even as soft as it was now, Dream could hear the emotion punctuating every word. He could hear the  _ pain _ in the Angel’s tone. “You are a scared, lonely man.” 

Dream threw his head back and laughed. 

“I am  _ everything _ I always wanted to be!” The admin cackled. “I have everything.  _ Because _ I have nothing, I have everything! You are weak, so weak Phil. I could be dead! I could be dead right now, but you won’t kill me. You won’t, you won’t! Because of  _ Techno. _ Because of your  _ friend. _ Because your attachment to him is keeping your blade firmly out of my gut. That is weakness, Phil. Weakness.” 

Dream smiled sympathetically, feeling pity for this poor man who had  _ so much. _ So much strength in his hands and power in his gaze and respect in his words and yet  _ threw it all away _ for something as worthless as a friendship. 

Pity for this man who could be something great if he only grasped the truth, the  _ creed _ that Dream had long ago recognized.

“Attachment makes you controllable, Phil,” Dream gently lectured, voice falling soft and sweet. “It does. It does! And I am not controllable. But you? You are, Phil. Everyone on this server is. And Techno’s life rests  _ firmly _ in your hands. Does it feel good, Phil? The desperation? The panic? Knowing your hands are tied? Because you care too much about one stupid half-piglin who’s equally as vulnerable as you.”

And  _ oh _ how Dream thought of Wilbur as Phil glared at him. Wilbur with his sweet, charismatic smiles and passionate words and gazes cold as ice. Wilbur who had children following him around like imprinted puppies, citizens who stared at him with adoration in their eyes, with power under his fingertips. 

Wilbur, whose one true love was his country. Wilbur, who Dream unraveled with careful, delicate fingers and a promise of help and a whisper of revenge. 

Phil was so much stronger of a man then Wilbur ever would have been. Phil was as flexible as water where Wilbur was stubborn as steel. Yet Dream wondered if Phil’s threads were just as easy to snap- his stitches as effortless to remove and resew into exactly as Dream wanted them to be. 

The admin hummed, and decided that yes- Phil’s weakness was exactly the same as his son’s. 

_ His love. _

A country, a friend- what was the difference, really? 

“You will regret this,” Phil said for the second time, and his words seemed to echo as if they  _ were _ the tundra, as if the entirely snowy biome was rearing up to reverberate his voice. Even in the face of absolute helplessness, the Angel did not falter and Dream held  _ so. much. respect _ for this man, if only he could open his eyes and see what power truly meant. 

“No I won’t,” Dream smiled, and he felt more than saw as Phil swung the sword. 

Dream’s hand flew to his pocket, pressing the small button on the side of his communicator as the air whistled- forged netherite slicing through the fog like butter, rocketing exactly for the admin’s painfully mortal throat. 

And with a blinding smile, a flash of blue and an explosion of purple particles- 

Dream vanished. 

  
  
  


Going from the icy tundra to lukewarm water sent a jolt through the admin’s entire body as his eyes flew open, obscured by bluish-purpley tinted water. His arms reached up, dragging heavily through the liquid until his fingers curled around the lipped edge to the glass tube, dragging himself up. 

Dream climbed out of the ender pearl stasis chamber on legs shaky with adrenaline, with sopping clothes dripping a steady stream of water- and a satisfied smile as relaxed and smooth as syrup. 

“Welcome back,” The cloaked man across the room greeted, twin communicator in hand. “Your finger is bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” Dream chuckled, wiping the red liquid off carelessly on his pants legs, shaking the water from his dripping hair. He reached up and tugged off his mask, wiping down his wet cheeks and forehead. “I appreciate your timeliness, Punz.” 

“S’ my job,” The man shrugged, setting his communicator aside on a table and striding forward. He was a flash of black and white- the outside of his cloak dark as coal and the inside of the cloak lined with snow white. His long hair was wound up in a deceptively casual bun. “This was quite reckless, Dream.”

“Worth it,” Dream sighed happily, wringing out his clothes. “Completely and utterly worth it. How is our guest?” 

“Asleep, last time anyone checked,” Punz murmured, tossing a towel in Dream’s direction. The admin accepted it, setting his previously discarded mask aside. 

“Good,” Dream hummed, and began to make his way towards the nearest stairs. “Call Sam. We need to have a talk.” 

“Sure thing,” Punz agreed, and the admin vanished without another word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the beginning notes of this chapter for my explanations of the SBI's relationships in this story! It's really important to explaining how I write the characters. In my opinion, this is the most accurate explanation of the SBI in the DSMP. I took the way their characters acted and talked and turned that into my own explanation of their relationships. 
> 
> Tommy and Tubbo will be relevant in this story, and Tommy will have interactions- positive and negative- with the rest of the SBI, don't you worry. 
> 
> Thank you all for the support on the last chapter- I wasn't proud of it but you guys showered me in unconditional support, so thank you! I speedran this chapter on all the motivation highs you gave me, so this chapter is all for you guys. Hope you enjoyed! <3 <3


	8. Chapter 8

The sound of the door opening reached Ranboo through the faint buzzing in his ears. 

He was aware of several things- he was aware of Niki clutching his hand. Her thin fingers were warm against his own frigid palm. He was aware of Phil coming through the door- the man was shaking like a leaf, still clinging to Techno’s sword. He radiated fury. 

Ranboo was aware that presence- the  _ person _ he’d somehow felt, been able to sense, without seeing- was gone. 

His ears were ringing and his jaw ached painfully and he couldn’t get his vision to focus. He thought he’d been like this for several minutes now. 

“Phil- Phil- Ranboo isn’t responding,” He heard Niki say, high with desperation. She was holding a sword too, weapon brandished like a comfort. He could hear her, he really ought to respond. 

The ender hybrid couldn’t get his taut, ramrod stiff body to agree. 

“...Ranboo?” Came Phil’s voice, and it was high and stressed; barely clinging onto a false edge of calm, filled so thickly with emotion that Ranboo was surprised it wasn’t choked or breaking. 

Ranboo’s heart was pounding, deep in his chest. Pulsating almost. He had the complete, irrational urge to scream; to shriek and grab the nearest thing and start- start what, fighting? He couldn’t fight. 

He wanted grass. Wanted to clutch it in his hands and smell the soft scent and see the beautiful, earthy green. 

Warm, heavy hands settled on his shoulders. Well, the digits were cold- cold like the snow, cold from being outside- but underneath that they were warm. Solid. 

“Ranboo, sit down,” Phil said, and his voice sounded as shaky as Ranboo felt. Ranboo wondered if the other man was as close to snapping as he himself was. Felt. Maybe. He wasn’t going to snap, was he? Sleepwalk and blow up another place?

His legs buckled and he felt two different pairs of hands guide him to the soft rug beneath him. Niki’s arm wrapped around his middle, and her smaller body hugged tight against his side. Phil was speaking, his words a low, rumbling buzz. 

Ranboo’s jaw ached, and he wanted to scream, and he wanted grass. 

The ender hybrid slowly came back to reality, refocusing on the world around him. Almost like he’d stepped out of a tunnel, his senses reflooded him; the warmth of the cabin, the sight of quartz walls and earthy-toned logs. The soft, fluffy blue carpet beneath his legs, and the scent of forest air that clung to Niki like a vice. The faint smell of void that hung around Phil’s body- the scent of an ender pearl. 

Inhale, exhale. 

“Are you with us Ranboo?” Phil asked softly, voice tired and heavy. Ranboo coughed, once, faintly- and nodded, sighing in relief as his body began to feel relatively normal again. 

“Y-yeah,” He managed, and nearly flinched at how his voice seemed to buzz; it sounded rough and raspy as though he hadn’t used it in days, despite that being completely untrue. “Sorry, I...um...well, I don’t know what happened.”

“You were...growling, mate,” Phil murmured, eyeing him with- not suspicion, or fear, but concern. Narrowed eye concern, as if Ranboo were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “Or...hissing maybe. Or buzzing. You were making, ah- enderman noises. Static.”

He was?

“Oh,” Ranboo said, and swallowed thickly. “Oh.” 

Niki’s arm squeezed around his middle, hugging him just the tiniest bit closer. 

“Who was outside?” Ranboo asked carefully, and something dark and cold flashed across Phil's face; concern evaporating, replaced with a kind of hatred that Ranboo had never seen on the survivor’s usually mild features. 

_ “Dream,” _ Phil growled, and Ranboo gulped. 

“Oh,” He whispered once more, and the ender hybrid couldn’t repress a shiver that coursed through his body. 

His fingers twitched, desperate for his book to hold. 

“He has Techno,” Phil whispered, and the man seemed to curl in on himself a tiny bit, as though he were seeking comfort in a more compact position. “He confirmed it. Threatened him.”

“...fuck,” Niki breathed, and there was anger in her voice too. Fire, where Phil’s words were cold as ice. 

Ranboo thought of Techno showing him where to find the silk touch books in his chests, and Techno leaning over the fence of his turtle farm to lift one of the creatures up, and Techno curled up in a blanket too close to the fire, glasses Ranboo had never seen before on his nose and a worn book resting on his knees. 

Ranboo swallowed and felt anger too. Anger deep in his chest, anger that made his eyes sting and his jaw ache. 

Techno who had let him stay, despite his prior allegiance to the Butcher Army. Techno who’d helped him trade with villagers and reluctantly gave Enderchest a pet behind her kitty ears when she rubbed against his leg for too long. 

Techno was a friend, and Ranboo glanced out the window at the snow, before turning his head to look at Phil, and then Niki. This was a room of friends. 

He didn’t need to look at his list to remember that. 

“...so how are we getting him back?” Ranboo asked softly, a subtle confidence he didn’t feel bleeding into his words. He was scared. He was  _ terrified. _ Dream would rip him to shreds. But Techno was a friend, and Ranboo felt so damn  _ angry.  _

Maybe he was a bad guy. Maybe he’d helped Dream in the past. Maybe his unconscious self came to the admin’s aid. 

But waking him could damn well do whatever he wanted, and Ranboo lived for his friends. 

“We have to find him.” Niki’s quiet voice hung in the stillness of the cabin; harsh with emotions, her eyes narrowed and cold when Ranboo glanced down. “Locate him. That’s the first step. Once we know where he is, we can break him out of...wherever. I think it’s safe to say Dream has him trapped.” 

“The locating is the hard part,” Phil murmured, and his voice was distant, his gaze fixated on some far point that Ranboo couldn’t see. The ender hybrid could almost see the gears turning behind the elder man’s eyes. “I’m not sure exactly  _ how _ to locate Techno.”

Something pinged in the back of Ranboo’s mind. He grabbed it, struggling to hold onto the memory like water dripping through splayed fingers. He focused, gnawing on his lip. 

Something...a game. A game? Or a tournament. No, not a tournament. But a sport. A...race. 

Ranboo closed his eyes, and thought, and tried so  _ very _ hard to remember. 

A sport. A race against- not the clock, but a race to an end goal. A race against another team. Two teams- one a group, one solo. 

“What if…” Ranboo said slowly, taking a deep breath. He felt both Phil and Niki’s eyes settle on him, anticipating his answer. The hybrid chose his words carefully. “What if we locate Dream, instead. Locate him, and let that lead us to Techno.” 

“...it could work,” Niki said softly. “But how do we find Dream?”

“Manhunt,” Ranboo blurted, and something warm and elated and  _ joyous _ bubbled up in his chest as the memory flooded his head, so many words and ideas and thoughts and clear scenes that he nearly fell over. “Manhunt! It’s a game. A game! Dream played it, with his friends. On other servers.” 

“I’ve heard of it,” Phil admitted, and he was looking at Ranboo with That Look again. Like Ranboo was a puzzle, like Phil saw something in him he was trying to figure out. “...go on.”

“In- in the manhunts, they had these compasses,” Ranboo continued, gesturing with his hands. His voice was nearly shaking, his mind buzzing as he tried to slot the memories into words, to convey his thoughts in a way that made sense. “The Hunters had compasses. They pointed to Dream. Even in other dimensions.” 

You could have heard a pin drop. 

_ “Genius,”  _ Phil breathed, panic seemingly momentarily forgotten, and his emerald eyes almost glowed in the low firelight. Ranboo smiled, and he heard Niki let out a soft, incredulous laugh beside him. “Ranboo- that might work. It might.”

“We could talk to one of the hunters,” Niki supplied, finally sitting up, her arm snaking away from Ranboo’s back. “Sapnap, George, Bad, Ant- they’re all on the server. They all live somewhere in the SMP. We could track one down.” 

There was a tangible change in the air. Ranboo couldn’t describe what had shifted; nothing physical, he was sure. And yet one moment they were three people floundering for ideas- and the next they were a group, with a goal. 

Ranboo took a deep breath, and focused on Niki beside him; Phil across from him. 

He owed Techno as much help as the man had granted him, time and time again. 

  
  
  


They planned. They sat down around the table with quills and pens and too much paper and argued back and forth over which hunter to approach. George they crossed out. No one knew where he was. Dream had been too tied with him in the past; too much politics had revolved around Dream and George. Too risky, anyways. 

(Ranboo returned to his shack. He slipped his weapons into their holsters; axe at his hip, trident in the sling at his back. He packed a bag, and grabbed food, and fed the cow farm. He gathered his pets and brought them back to the cabin, where the warmth and food would keep them safe. He stared with a choked throat as Enderchest went and burrowed her way under Techno’s folded spare cloak in the corner, nuzzling her way into the soft fabric)

Niki raised suspicions about Bad and Ant. The Badlands had always been a neutral party that switched sides on a dime to whatever seemed to suit them. They’d helped nearly every group to ever have graced the SMP for their own gain. 

Ranboo also mentioned the red vines they remembered from L’manberg and the SMP. The odd flowery plants that both hunters seemed so bizarrely defensive off. 

Ranboo hated those stupid plants, and he said as much. 

Phil mentioned seeing signs in the SMP. Something about an Eggpire. The vines had gotten thicker, overrunning buildings and roads.

They crossed Bad and Ant off their list too. 

(Phil packed and prepared with the fury of a man possessed. Ranboo watched in almost concerned fascination the speed at which Phil produced potions and golden carrots and weaponry; the way he took Niki’s armor and came back an hour later stained hands and runes that were twice as strong embedded into the netherite. The way he disappeared to the villagers and came back with an armful of bottles of magic and ender pearls and books sparking with enchantments and a gleam in his eyes that spoke a promise of pain. 

Ranboo watched as Phil threw together the preparation of a war in a single night; watched as he packed his ender chest full and closed the lid, twisting the eye on the lid until the chest shrunk to the size of an apple and fit effortlessly into the survivor’s pocket. He watched Phil pack his own sword away in his bag and hold Techno’s instead; like a child might cling to a blanket they needed for comfort.)

Sapnap still resided in the SMP lands, as far as they knew. He was a wild card- not as flashy with his sporadic allegiance as the Badlands, and seemingly not as attached to the crimson weeds. 

Neither of the three had any idea what the man’s  _ true _ opinion on Dream was, anymore. Or if he even had a manhunt compass. Or if he would give it to them. 

Phil murmured with a cold certainty that they  _ would _ get a compass. Ranboo didn’t doubt him. 

They planned, and they packed, and they prepared- and reluctantly, they slept. 

It took them convincing each other. They  _ needed _ the rest. All three of them were already exhausted and stressed and strained. They needed to be able to travel fast and with purpose, and potentially to fight. They needed rest for that. 

They all itched, all bounced with a restless energy, a need to go now,  _ now. _ Ranboo saw how Niki’s fists clenched and unclenched. He saw how Phil stared out the window with a near panicked longing, as if he wanted to leap through the glass and drag Techno home that very instant. 

Ranboo swallowed, and put his foot down, and insisted they spend the night at the cabin and left in the morning. They needed sleep, for this to be possible. Niki agreed softly. 

It seemed to physically pain Phil, but he nodded too. 

Both humans were asleep in bundles of blankets and furs to either side of Ranboo as the ender hybrid sat hunched over his book, quill scrawling in messy, quick strokes. Their bags and weapons were all within arms reach, prepared to leave in a moment's notice. Sleep hung heavy in Ranboo’s eyes, and he knew he would pass out soon. 

He finished writing their plan and the memory of the manhunts, and sighed in relief, staring down at the pages. He wouldn’t forget. This was too important for him to not know what was going on in the morning. 

_ ‘Operation Rescue Technoblade’ _ , read the title of that day’s entry. 

Daybreak would bring its start.

\----

The taste of chicken hung heavy on Techno’s tongue. It wasn’t unpleasant- only salty and ever so slightly too watered down and oddly nostalgic. It tasted like childhood and stuffy noses and sleepiness. 

The flavor receded, as did the weight in his mouth. It lingered; an ever present hint that slowly began to fade, and Techno found himself licking his dry, cracked lips, chasing the sensation. Then as suddenly as it had gone, the taste reappeared- rough, wet fabric warm against the edge of his mouth as liquid dribbled down his scratchy throat. 

_ Hungry, _ his head croaked, and Techno agreed. 

The anarchist’s eyes were firmly shut, and he had no desire to open them. For the first time since regaining consciousness however, he wasn’t floundering as to where he was, wasn’t desperately confused as to why the ground was cold and his wrists were pained and why the air smelt stagnant and rocky and dry like the most barren of caves. 

_ Trapped, _ the voices cried in anguish, and tiredly Techno thought back-  _ ‘I know’. _

He fought against the clutches of the potion silently, shoving his thoughts to the farthest outskirts of his mind as if he was trying to  _ will _ them into fruition. 

Techno was only met with a numb, exhausted lack of concern, his heavy limbs begging for him to just sit still and not bother to move. 

He twitched the fingers of his right hand- just to make sure he still  _ could _ move, and felt the fabric against his lips pause for a moment before pulling away. A small, fragile part of Techno deep down that was just  _ hungry _ and  _ tired _ and  _ in pain _ wanted to whine, to beg for the cloth that had been dripping broth into his previously unconscious mouth. Thankfully, before his dazed mind could succumb to that humiliating desire, the soaked rag returned. 

“...are you with me?” Came an unfamiliar voice; muffled in a way that sounded like hands were pressed over Techno’s ears to distort his hearing. His chest ached with a terribly uncomfortable mix of relief and distress. It wasn’t Dream. Thank fucking  _ god _ it wasn’t Dream. But he didn’t  _ know _ who this was, touching him- and the anarchist wasn’t sure if that was worse or better. 

_ Who? Stranger. No! Stranger danger! Not Dream, good. Sam! Not Phil, kill them. Blood! Murder! _

Techno lets the voices wash over him, struggling to drag the name out of the muddled mess. Sam?

...who the heck was Sam. 

Very slowly, Techno forced his heavy eyes open, fighting against what felt like months worth of sleep and an impossible drowsiness. 

The blurred figure in front of him wasn’t yet clear enough for his drugged mind to register, but the color pallet was unfamiliar. His heart skipped a beat at green- but no, this was the wrong shade for Dream. Before him was a dark, olive green intertwined with the gleam of gold armor- a poor choice, in the warrior’s opinion. 

_ Weak. No durability! Breaks too fast. Iron is objectively better. Pretty! Gold is prettier! We love gold. Iron superior.  _

__ Exactly. Iron armor was just… _ better. _

Gold was pretty, though. Techno had always had a weakness for the shiny ore. 

“...who are- are you..?” Techno croaked, and his own voice sounded alien. Dry and raspy. His head ached. He was so terribly dehydrated. 

The green and gold smudge leaned back, and the brothy-fabric disappeared once more. 

“I am the warden,” The man said smoothly, and his voice was rumbly without being hard on the ears; yet stiff with a sort of practiced detachment. Professional. It felt so bizarrely robotic after Dream’s honey sweet rants and hysterical laughter. 

“...s’ not a name,” Techno grumbled under his breath. His neck and back was in agony from his slumped position against the wall, but he didn’t have the energy to straighten up or move. 

_ Prisoner. We are prisoners. Our keeper? Kill! Food. Hungry. Kill him! Bring his head to Phil as a trophy! _

“Names aren’t necessary here,” The man replied, and Techno flinched minutely, not having expected an answer. The sentence was chilling and cold, yet the tone it was delivered with was so unemotional.

It was as if the man- the warden? Was simply stating a fact. 

Something cold and panicked and icy like Techno hadn’t felt in years wrapped a fist around his heart and before the warrior could help himself, he was panting faintly, breaths coming in short, silent, frantic gasps. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _ He had a name, and he sure as hell knew that. He was  _ Technoblade. _

Techno’s eyes were suddenly shut- he didn’t remember closing them, only realized that abruptly darkness had covered his vision once more, and his head was screaming. 

_ How dare. We have a name! We are not nameless! Kill. Blood for the blood god. _

Fingered brushed Techno’s shoulder, and the warrior snapped. 

With a roar that sounded dangerously close to a feral shriek, Techno’s eyes flew open- they burned, and to an outsider the maroonish-crimson had turned a ruby red- and Technoblade lunged forward, shackled hands outstretched towards the man. 

The warden jumped backwards with a startled yell- low and abrupt and something genuine, yanked from the throat by honest surprise. But he wasn’t across the room, not like Dream had been. The chains went taut, causing red hot pain to slash through Technoblade’s bruised wrists, but his hands were already closing iron tight around the fabric of the warden’s shirt- green cloth exposed above the gleaming gold breastplate. With a snarl, Techno dragged the now yelling man forward. 

The anarchist’s body couldn’t support their weight and as the unit, the two men tumbled to the side, crashing to the floor with the screech of chains and metal armor slamming stone, with the heavy thump of two bodies carrening over. Gold gauntleted hands rose in self defense, wrapping around the half-piglin’s throat and squeezing even as Techno slammed the man down against the floor, the warden’s head making a deafening  _ ‘crack’. _

_ “Fuck you,” _ Techno snarled, and the voices were  _ screaming _ , his head pounded, his entire body was shaking with rage and adrenaline and he wanted to tear something apart with his own damn teeth. “I’ll kill you. I’LL KILL YOU!”

“Holy gods- get off!” The golden man shouted, a hand releasing Techno’s throat to shove at his shoulder, trying vainly to push the bulky nether hybrid off. For the first time his voice sounded human- shocked and high with adrenaline. 

“I WILL NOT BE CHAINED UP LIKE A FUCKING DOG!” Technoblade roared, rearing up and dragging the man with him, slamming him into the floor again. The voices shrieked agreement and rage and  _ fury _ and Techno’s body shook like a leaf, his vision flickering from black to white to red and back again, like consciousness was being hung onto by only a thread. 

The man’s gauntleted fist reared back and slammed forward, hitting Techno’s face with a force that caused a  _ ‘crack’ _ in Techno’s ears- shocking him still for a moment before blinding pain filled Techno’s nose, sending him rearing back, hands releasing the man’s shirt in shock. 

Techno fell backwards onto the floor with a crash of chains, a hand raising to shield his face protectively. He could feel hot, wet blood against his fingers, and his vision swam as he stared up at the ceiling, blinking away spots of black and light flashing across his peripherals. Dazed and furious, the anarchist turned his head to see the blur that was the warden was already across the room, cradling the back of his head with his hands, staring at the prone piglin. 

The air was silent except for breathless gasps from both parties and the deafening pounding of blood in Techno’s ears. 

“I was not- dehumanizing you,” Came the warden’s voice; each word punctuated with a shaky inhale and a gasp of someone catching their breath and a sort of firm determination, like someone who was serious about righting a wrong. “I have- professionalism. I’m doing- my job.” 

Techno struggled still to inhale. Everything hurt. His wrists hurt, his head hurt, his incredibly broken nose hurt. 

“Your job,” Techno slurred, and something hot and furious and broken welled up in his eyes, forcing them to shut against the sudden burn.  _ “Your job. _ Die.  _ Die. _ I hope you die. I hope it hurts.” 

If the warden heard the faint hitch in the anarchist’s voice, he didn’t mention it. 

All of the strength and power and fury in Techno’s body had vanished- the voices nothing more than the faintest whispers in the back of his mind and the full force of the fading, but still potent potion was completely back in effect. He didn’t fight when the warden approached once more, or when arms slipped under his own and manhandled him closer to where the chains were sunk into the wall, laying him flat on his back. 

Technoblade kept his eyes squeezed shut and tried to focus on the darkness and pretend he wasn’t chained up and trapped and drugged and  _ who knows where. _

He knew how to fight fights on the battlefield- fight against an opponent weapon to weapon or hand to hand. He knew how to fight with speeches and lies and deception. He knew how to fight at a disadvantage- but not at rock bottom. 

Technoblade did not know how to fight as a captive. 

_ Sam, _ whispered the voices.  _ Enemy. Bad. Warden. Are we in prison? Fed us, not so bad. Tired. Hungry. Hurt. _

“...s’ your name Sam?” Techno whispered, and the hands guiding his wrists to lay on his stomach froze for an instant. 

“...how would you know that?” The warden- Sam- asked quietly. Voice heavy and impossibly calm for having just been attacked- but the cold, stoic professionalism was gone. “We’ve never met.” 

Techno didn’t answer. But he much preferred ‘Sam’ to ‘the warden’. 

Sam rose from his side, and Techno heard the man walk away to the otherside of the room. Heard a bag opening and shifting objects before the boots came nearer once more. 

Sam’s armor clinked with a familiar, oddly comforting  _ ‘ting’ _ of metal as he knelt once more. 

A cool, damp cloth ran over Techno’s face; gingerly wiping the blood from his cheeks and nose. Cold metal touched the side of Techno’s jaw. 

“Deep breath,” Sam instructed emotionlessly, and Techno swallowed his pride and obeyed. 

The jolt of pain as Sam set his nose was excruciating- but the gesture to even align the injury was more than Techno knew some captives were offered, so he bit down the scream by sinking his teeth into his lip until he tasted iron. The cool cloth returned, and finally Techno felt vaguely calm enough to open his eyes once more, squinting up at Sam. 

The potion must have finally been beginning to properly wear off- as it had over the course of Dream’s visit- because Sam’s face was in focus enough to determine details. His hair was a dark green, vaguely hinted blue; Techno wasn’t sure if it was the orange lighting warping his vision or the man’s true hair color. Nor was he sure if it was dyed or if it was an indication of non-human heritage. 

He’d learned long ago that he couldn’t tell the difference for the life of him. 

Sam’s lower face was obscured by a metallic mask, or...respirator or sorts; dark gunmetal tints and tiny neon green tubes. Something out of a sci-fi novel that might have sat on Techno’s bookshelves. His armor was indeed gold; intricately made and adorned with glowing runes along the edges. A cloak so dark green it was neary black covered the warden’s shoulders, and the shirt he wore under his armor was the olive smudge Techno remembered; hood hanging limply down the man’s back. 

They had indeed, never met, and Techno wondered with a churning stomach how the voices in his head; he still weren’t sure if they were hallucinations or his own subconscious or something...else- could have  _ possibly _ known the man’s name. 

Sam pulled the cloth away from Techno’s face, and the anarchist felt the cool metal fingers gently touch his wrists. 

Technoblade winced and hissed in a breath as the cloth was carefully threaded between the shackles and his raw rubbed skin; cleaning wounds he had caused himself with his lunges and fighting over his last few bouts of consciousness. Even as his body screamed at the touch, begged to shy away- Techno forced himself to remain still. 

He would take the medical help. He needed his body to be functioning, if he wanted any hope of getting out of here. 

_ Health pog. Death to our enemies! _

His head was as divided as ever, and Techno let his eyes slip shut once more, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. 

“...how long have I been here?” He asked raspily, dreading the answer even as the words left his mouth. His hand trembled the tiniest bit under Sam’s metallic touch. He deeply feared the answer, even as a desperation to  _ know  _ clawed at his throat. 

“You’ve been unconscious for less than twenty four hours, since last time,” Sam informed him after a moment of silence, his hands never pausing in their cautious treatment of the piglin’s torn up wrists. “Dream visited you yesterday. It’s approximately four in the morning right now. You arrived early in the morning, two days ago.”

It could have been a lie. A complete and utter falsehood. But Techno still sagged with relief, body slumping with a heavy reprieve against the stone beneath him. He hadn’t been drugged up for weeks, or  _ months, _ like some part of him had horribly feared. 

Sam’s hands finally pulled away, gently lowering Techno’s hands to rest back on his stomach. Techno twisted his wrists experimentally as the warden rose and walked away. The metal still stung his worn skin and the netherite binds hung heavy and suffocating- but it wasn’t agony to move his wrists anymore. 

Sam returned in less than a minute, and asked- “Are you able to sit up?”

“I’m not sure,” Techno answered honestly, voice low and dry with a sort of exhausted resignation. The potion effects were steadily wearing off, it was true; but his explosion of anger earlier left his body as tired as lead. Techno heard the faint thud of something being set down, and squinted his eyes open to see Sam lean over. A steady arm wiggled underneath Techno, between the anarchist and the stone, and lifted his upper body up, shifting him to lean against the wall like a child that couldn’t yet sit up on their own. 

It was demeaning and humiliating and Techno’s face burned with shame and anger, yet Sam’s expression- or his eyes at least, Techno couldn’t see his mouth- remind uncreased and calm, with no sense of judgment. Or any emotion, really. 

The warden had a disturbing poker face. 

“Since you aren’t unconscious, you can safely drink this now,” Sam explained, and he had a wooden bowl of broth sitting to the side, which he lifted up. It smelled faintly of chicken- the same taste Techno had experienced earlier. Sam held out the bowl, and Techno raised his shaky hands to take it, wincing as the chains rattled. 

He lifted it to his lips and began to drink- and then didn’t stop until the bowl was dry. The soup had long gone lukewarm and was watery and thin, but it soothed Techno’s burning throat and filled his aching stomach, so he drained the whole thing. Sam nodded in satisfaction when Techno slowly held out the empty dish, accepting it back. 

There was a table across the room, Techno realized as he watched Sam stand up once more and walk away. There were a collection of various bottles- both water and potions, from what Techno could make out. Sam maneuvered his way through the various other items blocked by his body with a practiced ease, setting the bowl aside. This man was obviously tasked with keeping Techno alive and in relatively good health, since his wounds had been tended to. 

Techno’s stomach rolled as he tried to figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If he was being taken care of, that meant he had a reason for being here. Just the fact that he wasn’t  _ dead _ and resources were being spent on containing him and keeping him sound were evidence enough that this was not simply a ploy to keep him out of the way. Unless Dream was playing a political game and needed to look humane- which made no sense. L’manberg was gone. There was no one to be political  _ with. _

“...I need to put you back to sleep,” Sam said, and Techno swallowed thickly, staring at the warden as the gold-adorned man turned around to meet his eyes back. 

  1. _NONO. WE WILL NOT SLEEP. Enemy. Bad. Sleep bad. Wake!_



“I will attack you again if you dare get near me with that fucking potion,” Techno threatened- but his sore throat caused the words to escape too quietly, breath whistling with a faint wheeze from deep in his chest. 

“Then I will throw a splash potion,” Sam warned. Even as the threat left the warden’s mouth, it was only painfully matter of fact and simple. There was no anger, or frustration, or sense of power shown through in his voice. Just a man explaining what he would do, as if this weren’t a cell, as if Techno weren’t a captive and this man wasn’t his assigned  _ babysitter. _

It sent an unpleasant jolt through Techno’s body, because it reminded him so terribly of Phil. Phil when he was in one of his unwavering, ‘you’re angry but I know you’re full of shit so I will talk calmly until you burn yourself out’ kind of moods. 

_ Phil. BAD POTION! Kill him! Death. Sleep? No sleep. Phil! Warden man.  _

“If you’ll let me,” Sam said carefully, and there was one of those cursed bottles in his hand. Small, innocent, with its perfectly water-still blue contents. “This can be easy.”

_ “Easy.” _ Techno snarled. “Oh yes, let me just make- make  _ drugging me _ against my will easy for you. I’m sorry this is such a  _ hassle.” _

He yanked his wrists towards his chest angrily and the chains clattered against the floor, a blunt reminder to both occupants that Techno was no guest. 

Technoblade eyed the warden through narrowed eyes. If the man got close, could he subdue him? No, Sam would throw the bottle- or it would fall and break, and the vapors would still escape. His shirt wouldn’t be enough to block the fumes. 

His hands started to shake again. He couldn’t give up. He  _ wouldn’t, _ not again. He didn’t want to sleep anymore. Didn’t want that fucking horrible, claustrophobic,  _ clawing _ heaviness that left him pliant and defensless to settle into his bones ever,  _ ever _ again. 

“Technoblade, this is not an option,” Sam sighed, and his shoulders sagged the slightest bit. His voice sounded tired, and a small part of Techno wondered if he had slept. It was four in the morning, if the warden was to be trusted on his word. “Either let me come give you the potion- and you can go to sleep in a comfortable position and without anything bad- or I’ll throw the bottle, and you can pass out like you are.” 

“...it must be nice, to be paid to be a captor,” Techno growled bitterly, looking down at his lap. It was clear Dream was the one who wanted him here- and from Sam’s behavior, he seemed to be in charge of...this cell, or prison, or wherever he was. Hired, most likely. He didn’t have the viciousness of someone sadistic enough to have a hostage for fun. 

“I was paid to build the redstone project of my dreams,” Sam said smoothly, and there was some sort of weight Techno couldn’t decipher in his words. “And then I was promised the job of solely looking after my creation. In return, I do not ask about the prisoners I keep in my prison.” 

So it was a prison. Were there others here?

Techno’s stomach rolled at the sudden horrible thought that maybe Dream had gotten others. Maybe Dream had gotten  _ Phil. _

_ Phil! PHIL. NOT GOOD. Trapped! Ranboo? Redstone pog. Phil! We want Phil.  _

“So you’re Dream’s god damn goon,” Techno laughed humorlessly, sagging back against the wall, tilting his head to lightly rest against the obsidian. “You know- I might be fucking chained up here, but at least I’m my own goddamn person. At least I’m not a pawn to any authority. I make my own goddamn decisions.” 

Sam watched him silently, and to Techno’s frustration, did not seem to rise to the bait. 

“...your choice, Technoblade?” The warden repeated with unfailing patience, and Techno both wanted to throttle the man in his damn golden armor and hide his face in his cloak and cry. 

“I’l drink the fucking potion, if it makes you just go away,” He snapped, defeated. Exhausted. The voices screamed in protest, but Techno swallowed their agnized cries down, even as they fought to escape on his own tongue. If he would be drugged, at least it would be on his terms. Or at least it would be in a way that he could tell himself it was his decision, even if the reassurance was pretend.

Samm approached with careful footsteps, and motioned his free hand to the floor. 

“I would lay down. Find a comfortable position.” 

“Go to hell,” Techno mumbled, even as he slowly sat up, scooching away from the wall and cautiously lowering himself down to the floor. He laid on his back, staring up at the blackstone ceiling with a numb sense of detached dread growing deep in his gut. 

Sam knelt beside him, and Techno heard the bottle uncork with a soft pop. The cool sensation of glass touched his lips, and with a shudder that wracked his entire body, Techno opened his mouth and let Sam pour the potion in. 

It only took about ten seconds of gulping the disturbingly flavorless liquid before Techno felt his entire body sag as though it might sink into the floor, his bones turning as heavy as lead. The tiniest of whimpers escaped his lips as he abruptly yanked his head to the side, feeling a splash of potion spill against his neck. A fog began to slowly build up, crawling over his head, dulling his thoughts even as the panic built into an urge to almost scream. 

“Stop- stop, stop,” Techno gasped, winded, and one of his hands rose, shaking- trying to shove the bottle and Sam’s hand away. “I c-changed my mind, I don’t- I don’t want-” 

The weight was growing, his head spinning like he was slowly drifting off to sleep and Techno really, really wanted to cry. 

“...I’m sorry,” Sam murmured, and his voice sounded awkward and slightly strained- the first hint of any calmness being lost since their scuffle. Cool metal fingers touched Techno’s cheek, guiding it back to face up, and the bottle returned. “You must drink it.” 

The potion spilled back into Techno’s mouth, and he coughed, but his face felt too numb to try and protest as he weakly swallowed. Time jumped, and it seemed impossible that Techno missed finishing the bottle- and yet the glass was gone, and Techno heard it clink against the floor. Sam’s arm lowered his head carefully against the stone. 

Techno stared up at him- heart pounding with panic, too floaty to look away, and he watched with a sort of dazed interest as the lines between Sam’s eyes furrowed. 

“Go to sleep.” 

Sam’s voice was quiet, and solemn. Techno felt metallic fingers unclench his fists, move his hands to rest on his stomach.

It felt stupidly like he was being tucked in for bed, and he wanted to scream and flail and- and-

_ Please don’t pass out Techno. _

His eyes slipped shut, and Techno faintly felt the weight of a hand resting on his shoulder. 

“I hate you all,” Techno whispered- thready and barely audible, eyes squeezed shut. 

The voices cried out, and Sam’s hand still pressed against his shoulder as his world went dark. 

Despite the flavorless potion, Techno’s mouth tasted like iron. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet, at 6297 words. I fucking speedran this thing today, oh my lord. 
> 
> As I always say- thank you all so fucking much for your comments. Seriously, I read them and almost immediately go write, it's so incredibly motivating to see you all enjoying and analyzing this story. 
> 
> New characters pog! Sam, and a mention of Sapnap! Next chapter will be slightly different.


	9. Chapter 9

Tommyinnit would not say that emotions were particularly high on his list of priorities, both in the long term and the short.

No, currently the most pressing issues were attempting to restart his carrot farm, enchanting his armour, avoiding going near Old L’manberg like it was irradiated- and the disks.

The emotions were settling in very much against his will, however; invading his thoughts and taking up valuable space that could be used for  _ planning _ or  _ strategy _ or- 

Tommy leaned his head back against the wall with a gentle thump, fingers running a smooth back and forth over the thick cotton sheets of the bed. 

Beside him, Tubbo slept motionlessly; face squished into the pillow, breath coming in tiny little snorts and the occasional sigh. Tommy glanced down at him with tired eyes; observing mildly that his friend hadn’t changed into any sort of sleepwear before crashing. 

Well, neither had Tommy, so he couldn’t exactly judge. 

Tufts of short brown hair and a slightly red nose poked out from the greenish-grey blankets and the fluffy, fur lined leather hood of Tubbo’s jacket. Tommy reached out and dragged the slipping quilt back over the older boy’s form before sagging fully back against the wall, sighing. 

The air was silent besides Tubbo’s quiet breathing and the very distant sound of woodland creatures outdoors. It was that kind of heavy nighttime fog where time felt endless and the air was heavy and the world held its breath as if you were the only living creature to still be awake and aware. 

That time of night when emotions crept up into your heart and wound their thorns tight and biting and dragged you down kicking and screaming into a whirlpool of bad thoughts. 

Tommy grimaced and pulled the blanket a little tighter around himself. 

He’d protested staying the night in Snowchester. 

As much as Tubbo seemed to adore his solitude and pet project; the cold of the snow biome sent shivers through Tommy’s whole body that even a borrowed coat couldn’t prevent. Despite the dense pine forest that surrounded Tubbo’s cabin; so different from the rolling, endless hills of the tundra-

It still brought up uncomfortable reminders of Technoblade. And if there was one train of thought Tommy religiously did not want to acknowledge- it was The Blade. 

A realistic part of him nagged-  _ you need to address this. _ But Tommy lived day to day by moving forward. Pushing towards the future. New ideas and new schemes and he didn’t dare dwell on the past for too long because usually that resulted in acute sleep deprivation the next morning from an entirely sleepless night. 

This was the first time he’d slept anywhere besides the SMP since he’d stepped to Tubbo’s side amidst the crumbling bricks and shattered glass that covered the sullied ground where the Community House had once proudly stod. And as much as Tommy hated,  _ loathed _ to admit it; L’manberg had been a part of the SMP. It had independence, sure; but the SMP and L’manberg shared earth and borders; shared occupants and conflicts. 

So this was truly his first time anywhere but L’manberg or his old house since that final night in Technoblade’s cabin, before his exile truly ended. 

Because his exile hadn’t ceased when he fled Logstedshire. Tommy could admit that now. He’d spent his time with Technoblade running and hiding and downing more invisibility potions then he had in his life. 

(And boy had that come back to bite him. Perhaps Techno was used to consuming fast amounts of drugs, due to his combat expertise; but Tommy hadn’t drunk a potion in  _ months, _ not since the earliest stages of L’manberg’s revolution. Only three days of chugging several pots a day had left him shaky and vaguely nauseous for a week.)

It wasn’t until he followed Tubbo back to New L’manberg on trembling legs, head pounding with adrenaline and the image of Techno vanishing in a flash of purple particles-  _ Dream  _ laughing _ as he slipped his ender chest into his pocket, grin so wide that Tommy wanted to throw up- _ still flashing in his eyes, that he had realized he was home. 

Actually _ home. _ Pardoned by the same friend who’d sent him packing. 

Of course that had been short lived, but- 

Tommy swallowed and closed his aching, scratchy eyes for a moment, contemplating. 

He had an absolutely terrible track record with explosions. 

The crater they’d left behind was horrific, but painfully,  _ agonizingly _ expected. 

L’manberg was destined to blow up again. And again. And  _ again. _

_ A traitor. A leader. A friend. _

Tubbo sniffled in his sleep and burrowed a little closer, his arm squeezing almost uncomfortably tight for a moment around Tommy’s middle before loosening. Tommy bit back the smallest of fond smiles, instead opting to lightly rest his hand on Tubbo’s hood; a light pat, until his friend settled down and went still once more, never once seeming to awake. 

In the stillness of the night, it seemed impossible that time could be limited. But Tommy knew as sure as breathing, as sure as the sun rising to meet the new day, that they were on a countdown. 

_ “A week,” _ He had told Tubbo not but a few days ago.  _ “We have a week at most, before this all ends.” _

Tommy wasn’t sure anymore what ‘the end’ meant for them. Maybe it meant death. Maybe it meant victory. 

Victory was a sweet taste that Tommy had long, long forgotten. And as much as he hated,  _ hated _ death-

It no longer scared him. 

_ “There is no god,”  _ Ghostbur had casually thrown out, like it was simple, like there was nothing to it. Tommy had wanted to laugh, but he knew the specter hadn’t intended it to sound comedic. A part of Tommy wished he had truly prodded deeper. In L’manberg, or during exile. Had sat the ghost down and dragged answers forth about what truly happened when life left the body. 

He likely still had a few days to ask, but the teen didn’t particularly want to. 

One last surprise, he supposed, if everything went horribly wrong. 

The sun was beginning to rise. Tommy could see the edges of pink and orange creeping into the black out the shuddered windows; saw where faint moonbeams cast on the bare plank floor were beginning to shift from grey-white to golden. Too soon it would be time to leave the snowy little cabin and venture back to the SMP. Tommy cracked his neck and hummed under his breath, a beat of agitation building up in his chest. 

There were so many simple things he needed to get done. 

Finish re-sodding the side of his dugout house. Plant some carrots and probably steal some food from neighbouring buildings or farms, because he was fairly certain he had none and he didn’t want to eat the potatoes Tubbo had growing down by the bank of his frozen lake. 

He had chests to reorganize, and lanterns to repair, and-

And disks to retrieve. Somehow. 

Tommy groaned and tugged a lock of too-long hair in agitation, watching the sky outside go brighter and brighter. 

No time like the present. 

  
  
  


The boat ride back to the SMP was quiet. They took turns rowing, but the silence wasn’t really ever truly broken. Tubbo was obviously still waking up; yawning every three seconds and spending the entire time he was on break rubbing his eyes and staring absently into space. 

Tommy goaded him a couple times, but he hadn’t slept more then an hour, and his own mind felt like lead. 

They were content to just let the splash of waves, the creak of the rowboat and the clank of the paddles guide them back. 

They grew more talkative as they left their boat behind on the bank and hiked their way up the deforested hills, the tall buildings of the SMP rising up before them. Tubbo had gone from exhaustedly silent to wide awake and bouncing, and he rambled on and on about his plans for Snowchester. Tommy didn’t mind too much. He wasn’t ever going to go live in the snowy- town? compound? that his friend was making, but it was the most alive Tommy had heard his friend in a long time. 

_ Since Pogtopia, _ something in him reminded, and Tommy grimaced. No snow biomes, no caves. His old house in the SMP was seeming more appealing as a long term home by the minute. 

“You’ll still live with me for awhile, right? Until this is over?” Tommy interrupted, and Tubbo paused, processing the words before he smiled faintly. His hood hung loose over his shoulders, and Tommy still wasn’t used to the new attire. He remembered messy green button ups and pressed suits gone ragged. 

Leather and fur and coats and stiff, heavy boots- an outfit for  _ survival- _ was not anything he ever imagined Tubbo donning. 

“Yeah, big man. I said I was gonna live with you, didn’t I? I mean, I have, for the last few weeks.

“We just spent last night in your snow cabin,” Tommy pointed out, and Tubbo giggled, glancing to the side, hands thrust casually into his jeans pockets. At least that piece of attire was the same.

“True, that’s true,” His friend admitted, and that was that. 

The SMP had really gone to shit, Tommy decided as they walked down the long wooden boardwalk that was the prime path, chatting idly. It had all gone downhill since he’d left, really. Ugly buildings and lots of uncleaned ruins- and those stupid red  _ plants, _ which seemed to grow at an incredibly unrealistic rate. 

Tommy shot one of the weeds just a  _ little _ too close to his boardwalk a warning glance, and brought two fingers splaying in a ‘V’ to point at his eyes, then at the little red vine. 

“Don’t start what you can’t win, bud. My path, my turf,” He warned the plant, and Tubbo laughed loudly beside him. 

Their calm atmosphere lasted until they reached the top of the stairs that crested at the precipice of the hill on which Tommy’s old house resided. Tubbo froze first- Tommy had been staring at the ground and kicking a pebble along like a football. 

“...Tommy,” Tubbo whispered, and Tommy’s head snapped up so fast it almost hurt, stunned by the sudden  _ wrongness _ in his companions voice. 

His house was gone. 

Where a hobbit hole style dugout had once resided now stood a crater. A small, miniature, novice version of the terrorism the server had experianced, but Tommy’s throat still went abruptly tight, his lips dry as his gaze was filled with rubble and fire. 

“What  _ happened,” _ Tubbo blurted from beside him. But Tommy already knew. 

There was nothing left of the upper level of his house. The dirt had been blown away; leaving chunks of blackened sod and charcoal stone splayed out like a sick halo across the ground and surrounding path. The crater where the house had been was several feet deep, digging it’s way into the underground rooms; leaving messy, broken foundations that were supposed to be buried open to the nearly comically clear blue sky. 

The inside structure of stone and wooden support beams were a pile of rubble and cracked rock. The wood smoldered and sparked, and Tommy could see dark orange flames licking across sections; charcoal mounds where burning material had once blazed. 

The destruction was no accident, and was so terribly man made. 

On the front path; tramped down dirt and mulch that had once cut across the lawn to the front door, was a small, metal box. It gleamed; unsoiled and undirtied, untouched by the devastation and standing out so clearly. 

With a pounding heart, Tommy stepped around a frozen Tubbo and with soft, sneaker-muted footsteps, walked closer. 

Knelt, and pulled the box closer, lifting its lid. 

Tommy was met by a crisp, clean envelope. He lifted it carefully, flipping it over, and even as he kneeled in ash; crisp, practiced calligraphy stared up at him. 

‘ _ Tommy & Tubbo’, _ the beautiful, looping letters spelled. 

Tommy slit it open with shaky fingers, tearing the perfect envelope ragged and useless in his haste. 

Inside was a folded paper, and Tommy read the cursive with a speed that would have once made him proud and hyper to gloat. 

He swallowed around a sandpaper throat. 

_ ‘Tommy’, _ read the words.  _ ‘I have your disks. In three days, you and Tubbo will follow this compass. You will come alone. If anyone else comes, the disks will be burnt.’ _

It wasn’t signed. 

It didn’t need to be.

Tommy moved his hand, and looked back into the small box. Resting within it, was a small, metal compass; glittering with the faint violet hue of enchantment. 

“Tubbo,” Tommy croaked, reaching down and gingerly lifting the instrument. The circular device fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, like it had been made for him and him alone. 

Engraved on the cover in the same flawless, looping text;

_ ‘Your Disks’ _

“...I think our week might end early.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof school properly started again this week and I am *tired* boys. I forgot that like learning actually takes brain power lmao
> 
> You guys fucking ate up Chapter 8, oh my god. Thank you all so, so much. 
> 
> As always, your comments keep me going. 
> 
> Lets welcome Tommy and Tubbo to the story <3 (This fic is officially going to end in a rewrite of the Season 2 finale)


	10. Chapter 10

The Syndicate made their move barely an hour after the sun had truly risen; painting the sky in fresh, clear blue and golden sunlight that made the expanse of glittering white sparkle with the gleam of quartz and the dazzle of glass. 

As they tramped through the snow; boots crunching hard against the icy shell coating the surface and sinking deep into the inches of powder beneath- Niki wondered if that was really an accurate title for their group 

For her and Phil, certainly. 

Biting at the cracked dryness of her lip, Niki turned her head to look at Ranboo; a little to her right and about two paces ahead, his long legs bringing him across the earth just ever so slightly quicker than she or Phil. The teen’s mouth was flattened into a thin line of determination, a deep furrow of thought between his piercing eyes. She wondered why Ranboo  _ wasn’t _ in the Syndicate. 

_ Then she thought of clenched fists- of eyes scrunched tight, a mouth screwed up in fury, half of a face damp with frustrated tears and the other eye  _ flaring  _ with hurt and yet so unnaturally dry. _

__ _ An ideology held so passionately; not to choose. Not to pick one over the other.  _

__ _ “No sides.” _

Ranboo reminded her of Technoblade. 

She thought back to the ender hybrid’s impassioned speech before the destruction of L’manberg. How he held his ideals cradled close, tucked right next to his heart. Ranboo lived by them. He lived for people, not communities. He picked individuals, not sides. 

_ He lived for people, not governments. He picked liberation, not law.  _

Niki sucked in a deep breath of piercingly cold air and shoved her fingers deeper into the pockets of her trench coat, shivering against the light breeze that washed snow around their legs like a mist of sea spray; waves of white rippling as smooth as water. The beautiful day felt anticipatory; foreboding. 

Like it was waiting with baited breath for something to go terribly wrong. 

Phil was a harsh streak of dark colors against the pale background. They all were, really. Three slashes of black and grey in a field of crystal; moving with a fast, anxious pace while the world around them drifted slow and endlessly patient. 

But Phil had a steel in his posture, an emboldened pace that Niki found herself unconsciously replicating; seeking comfort in stepping just a little bit heavier, clenching her fists just a little bit tighter. 

Letting the anger and worry show outward in small, subtle gestures that made each breath feel just a little bit easier. 

They were the Syndicate plus one, she supposed, glancing again at the teen beside her. Or perhaps just the Syndicate, with an honorary member. Or maybe it was foolish to think Ranboo anything different.

It felt nice to have a title again. A group. 

She marched through the snow as the sun shone brightly and for a second there was no cold. No heavy bag on her back. Just the wind and her coat snapping in the breeze and each solid step, each thump of a boot against the ground. 

Her fingers dug into her palms and her chin lifted and she glared at the horizon with fury hot on her tongue.

_ She was striding through grass and dandelions. Her tall, too big boots slammed into the dirt with a kind of confident ferocity, and the newly adorned blue and gold coat she wore swirled around her legs with the wind, billowed behind her like a cloak.  _

__ _ To either side of her, walls of blackstone and richly dyed yellow rose high into the sky, and as her boots hit the cobblestone path and echoed with a dull ‘thud’, she felt powerful.  _

__ _ Her sword weighed heavy on her hip and the air smelt sweet and grassy with the scent of spring, and her blonde hair hung lightly around her shoulders.  _

__ _ And she felt  _ good. __

__ _ She had a purpose here. On this land, under this flag. The flag of blue and red and black and yellow that danced overhead with the lively music of the wind.  _

__ _ Niki tilted her head to see the figures across the stretch of field, perched high above the walls; one tall and poised and brunet, one screaming at the top of his lungs and sunflower blonde.  _

__ _ They both laughed and their voices carried with the wind. One with low, warm, breathless chuckles- the other with cackling, hysteric giggles.  _

__ _ When she walked through L’manberg, Niki felt powerful. Purposeful.  _

__ _ Walls at her back, and a flag overhead, and boots that clomped against the solid ground.  _

__ She listened to the crunch of her worn, too-large boots and a hum rose unbidden in the back of her throat; not escaping, unwilling to break the silence- but buzzing in her mind. 

_ A soft, almost mournful voice, despite the happy words; the strum of a guitar and the silhouette of a man illuminated by the red-orange of a nearly extinguished fire. Moonlight shone down like an angelic spotlight on the young president with a resolve as strong as the walls that ringed their city.  _

__ _ “I heard there was a special place,” Sang the voice; quiet and rising and falling with the soft whistle of the nighttime air. She paused, hidden by the corner of the tent, hesitant to step around it and reveal herself, to break the silence.  _

_ … _

__ _ She sat in a cave, and the stone chilled through the thin fabric of her pants. Her striped sweater was worn and dusty and torn, and the thin brown shawl she clutched tight around her shoulders did little to soothe her pounding heart.  _

__ _ She felt small and tired. Her soft soled shoes did not make sound on the stone floor of the ravine. Her ragged sweater did not shift in the breeze and the walls of the cavern closed in around her; grey and suffocating and cold.  _

_ Voices echoed faintly from all ends of the ravine, but a hum broke through the fog- stand out, an anomaly amongst the frustrated, scared, hateful whispers that seemed to come from all directions.  _

__ _ A musical note, then two, then three.  _

__ _ “I heard there was a special place…” Sung a whispery, distant voice. Longing and wistful and damp with tears.  _

__ _ She curled up further into the corner of Pogtopia and did not feel powerful. _

__ _ She felt weak. _

  
  
  


They made their way through the nether with efficient speed. The man-made tangle of cobbled together bridges and carved stairs and rough ladders led them on a twisting path away from the swirling portal to the tundra and back towards the land of the SMP. 

Phil and Ranboo both walked with a confidence that spoke of having made the trip a countless number of times. Deep down, Niki was grateful, because she had really only traveled between L’manberg and the tundra once. She doubted she could remember how to get back. 

Even with all of the carefully forged paths and concealed tunnels, the Nether was still fraught with dangers. Zombified husks of the Nether’s piglin race wandered aimlessly; long useless golden swords held loosely in rotting hands, the tips of the shining blades dragging thin jagged lines across the soft netherrack floor. Their soulless, lifeless eyes that stared endlessly without seeing sent shudders down Niki’s spine. For the first time she thought that perhaps she properly understood why Endermen hated eye contact. 

Phil had one of the most impressive bows she’d ever seen- which was high praise, because Nihachu had seen the Manberg Festival with her own two eyes. 

Phil’s bow was long and recurve; strong, bent wood with a string that the survivor played like a harp. It was nothing like the powerful mechanical beast that was Technoblade’s crossbow, but what Phil’s weapon lacked in power was made up for by his aim; the flawless way he drew an arrow from the sheath at his waist and nocked it, the projectile slamming into his target mere seconds after he decided to take the shot. 

It practically  _ oozed _ magic. Glowed a vibrant magenta, and the runes carved painstakingly into the wood of the bow seemed to dance with light. 

Niki decided not to point out how it was definitely an enchantment that caused the arrows to  _ ‘poof!’ _ ablaze the second they shot from the weapon. 

Ghasts were no match for Phil’s bow and Ranboo’s trident, and Niki watched both of them with a pleasantly surprised sense of admiration and something that felt a little softer, almost like amusement, as she saw both the teen and the elder man through silent agreement race to take out the ghasts before one another- Ranboo whirling to throw his trident before Phil could nock an arrow, or Phil not mentioning a flash of white until it was tumbling with nothing but a puff of smoke and a drip of fluorescent liquid and the survivor’s smug grin to show it had ever been alive. 

  
  


The normally suffocating heat of the Nether was almost easy to forget, when one had company. Especially company that created a sense of safety and security. 

Even when a magma cube blocked their path on the thin bridge to the SMP portal hub, they did not falter. 

(An arrow flew straight and true and sunk deep into the thick, oozing slime. A flash danced to the side and a trident met the maroon cube, causing it to tumble sideways, pitching over the edge of the bridge. 

A flash of netherite, and a sword slashed the cube in two.

They worked well as a unit.)

They hesitated just inside of the hub, three pairs of eyes temporarily trained on the swirling void of softly humming purple lights. 

“We don’t know where Sapnap lives?” Ranboo asked nervously- and Niki noted this was probably the tenth time one of them had asked that same question since their decision the previous night. 

‘ _ Maybe we all clung to this tiny hope one of us might spontaneously remember something’, _ she ruefully thought to herself. 

“No, we don’t,” Phil sighed. His hair no longer hung loose. It was tied back in a small ponytail, a free hanging strand dancing in the hot winds that rose up from the lava pool far below; the hairs sticking to his sweat covered face. 

“...I think he used to live in the community house,” Niki murmured, a conversation overheard long, long ago flickering to the surface. “Which is...ah.”

“Gone,” Ranboo finished, and somehow, impossibly, the snow white half of his skin seemed even paler, for an instant. 

“Right,” Phil sighed, hand rubbing back and forth absently over the small ball of metal at the end of his sheathed sword’s handle. He seemed to stare off into the distant fog of the nether, far beyond the lakes of bubbling orange. “We should figure out a vague plan of action before going through the portal. I’m not the most welcome face in the SMP.”

“Neither am I,” Niki agreed. Her mind flashed back to the flaming tree that danced before her eyes in her dreams. The enraged scream behind her. 

“Well, ah...I guess we look around the community house area,” Ranboo suggested, and he was wringing his hands in a half anxious, half contemplative sort of way. The ender hybrid’s voice wavered as he glanced between them and to the portal, then back. “And if- if he’s not there, we just...search the SMP?”

“Not much else we can do,” Phil agreed, nodding grimly. “Worst comes to worst, we come back, get one of the dogs from the kennel and start flaunting it around the area. Lure the resident pet killer out.”

Niki stared at Phil, wondering if that was a joke. Surely. 

Phil’s eyes never unfocused from their far away gaze; cold and emerald, and his lips did not twitch. 

_ “Oh,” _ Ranboo said faintly, and he sounded as vaguely horrified as Niki felt. “Oh. Okay. Okay. Let’s- let's keep that as plan c. Or maybe like plan f.” 

“...right.” Phil’s eyes finally snapped back to the two of them, and he seemed to take them both in, like he was making sure they were both present before he turned and stepped through the portal with a flash of purple and a billow of a cloak. 

“...he is not okay,” Ranboo blurted, slightly strangled, the second Phil’s form disappeared. 

“...are you?” Niki murmured, finally finding her voice again. “Am  _ I?” _ She laughed, cold and high and humorless. 

Ranboo didn’t answer as she moved forward, letting the cold, alien throngs of the portal envelop her, drag her forward into nothingness. She closed her eyes and greeted it. 

  
  
  
  


Niki had only been gone for two days. Only  _ two nights _ were spent in the arctic cabin. And yet the SMP, the area of L’manberg- it felt alien as the three of them searched the area near the portal, scouring through the ruins of the community house. 

Two nights had been enough for Niki to know, as she shifted bricks to peer into the water beneath the foundations of the building- that she no longer wanted to call this place home. 

This land with gaping wounds like scars across its earth; with its wasteland of builds and ruins- a history of pain and loss and unbottled grief that rolled beneath the surface like the sluggish crawl of lava that smoldered in the caves far below. 

She lowered herself gingerly into the waist high pond and with a grimace, waded beneath the foundations of the house, peering down into the crumbling entrance to the sewers below as her boots sunk heavy into soggy dirt and muck. 

She saw nothing but trash caught on boards and muddy water and cracked stone, and cursing herself for ever getting into the water in the first place, she hauled herself back up to land. The community center was in ruins, exactly as it had been left. There was no sign of Sapnap- no sign of  _ anyone _ having been living there recently.

They were close to giving up on the area (It was too suffocating, the air of the SMP. Even under a perfect blue sky it choked their lungs with memories and emotions and left all three of them staring at each other with tired eyes)- when the solution near literally walked into their laps.

  
  
  


“...did I miss a party invite or something?” Came a low, dull drawl, cutting through the air like a whip even as the words flowed careless and uninterested. The group of three that had gathered, huddled in the middle of brick and shattered glass all abruptly turned as almost a single unit- something that could have been comical in lighter days, when less had been lost.

Standing just under the crumbling arch of the community center’s most northern entrance was Sapnap. Pale, bandaged hands tapped anxiously against his legs in a jumpy, impatient motion- charcoal dark eyes gazing across their party with narrowed curiosity and a faint sense of tentative hostility. 

Phil had never had the opportunity to simply  _ look _ at Sapnap in peacetime. 

His one true memory of the man was simply a blur of netherite and white that trailed after Techno- exactly on his tail, so comically similar to the hounds the hunter was systematically cutting down. 

Phil wondered if that had truly been all the man had cared about- to simply dispose of pets, as the man had such a reputation for. But he doubted it. Sapnap was many things, but he had intelligence gleaming behind his dark eyes. He was a hunter. He had been a friend of Dream’s. Phil knew well not to underestimate that. 

_ Techno’s hounds had been more than capable of ripping them to shreds. Fueled by potions and surrounding the warrior like a tidal wave of gnashing, snarling teeth- they shielded the anarchist as effectively as the force fields of blue that curled around a Wither’s bones.  _

__ _ It had been the most tactical thing, to rid of the dogs. And Sapnap had done that quietly; following behind- ignored, mostly unnoticed, slaying the threat with practiced ease while more foolish soldiers threw themselves at Techno himself again and again, only to meet a blade or fangs.  _

“Sapnap,” Phil greeted- the first of their little pod to speak, and Sapnap arched an eyebrow, glancing between the three of them with suspicion doused interest. “We were looking for you.”

“...for me?” The hunter echoed- sounding quite genuinely baffled as he raised a finger to point to himself as though to emphasize his words. “Well, I- I don’t live  _ here. _ This place is a shithole.” The dark haired male gestured around with a laugh that sparked with fakery and bitterness and something resigned. 

“None of us knew where you lived,” Niki admitted. 

“Oh,” Sapnap remarked thoughtfully, leaning back on his heels as he shoved his wrapped hands deep into the pockets of his pants. The netherite armour framing his shoulders and legs glowed bright and oddly medieval against his casual white shirt and loose fitting pants. “Well, yeah. I didn’t tell anybody, so- that was the point.”

Silence settled over their group, heavy and pointed, and it lasted until Sapnap raised an expective eyebrow, glancing between them. “...well?” 

“...alright,” Phil sighed, swallowing down his resolve and settling his shoulders. This was either going to be easy, or it was going to be a massive pain in the ass. Probably the latter, if their general luck was anything to go by. “We need a manhunt compass.” 

Sapnap clearly had not been expecting  _ that. _

Phil watched the words settle into the hunter’s mind; watched confusion, and then realization, and then bafflement- anger- something darker and more puzzled- all flash across the man’s face before it seemed to settle its way firmly between the ‘baffled’ and ‘angry’ stages. 

“Ex- _ cuse- _ me?” Sapnap laughed, and the sound boomed around the stillness of the area. “I’m sorry- you  _ what?” _ His tone was not jovial; trapped somewhere between furious and oddly hurt. 

“A m-manhunt compass,” Ranboo spoke up; his first time voicing aloud since they’d left the nether, not that the group had conversed much. The ender hybrid stood tall even as his voice wavered- his leather bound journal clutched tightly in an onyx hued hand. “We need one. You’re one of the hunters. We just- just need to borrow it.” 

_ “Borrow  _ it,” Sapnap repeated; as if he was saying the words just to make sure they were real. His tone was slightly flabbergasted, edging towards disbelieving- eyes narrowed to shadowy, dangerous slits. 

The hunter didn’t believe them, Phil realized. Or at least didn’t trust them. 

“...we are hunting down Dream,” Niki said softly- and the world seemed to stop for a second. Her tone was soft, words quiet- and yet they came out as pointed as a punch; unwavering. “And supposedly your compasses...they point directly to him. Cross dimensionally.”

Sapnap’s expression had gone from emotive and mocking to closed before Niki was even finished speaking. 

The transformation was almost jarring; how a gaze of suspicion slid effortlessly into glacial anger- how a face twisted in a startled laugh fell to a thin-lipped line. 

“...I see,” The hunter said, and his voice was as crisp as the tundra breeze. Something hot and frustrated boiled up like bile in the back of Phil’s throat. He’d been hoping that Dream and Sapnap’s friendship was a thing of the past. That was the impression he’d gotten over his time on the server. Perhaps they’d misjudged, when they decided Sapnap would be the easiest to persuade. 

_ Though he remembered vividly how disgusted Dream had seemed by the idea of friendship. Like it was a failing, a  _ weakness. __

“Why?” Sapnap’s voice was hard- edged with a faint, untamable hint of curiosity, but mostly stewing with a firm stoicism. Just one simple word, and the hunter fixed them with his dark gaze expectantly. 

Without much thought, Phil turned to the other two- only to see his companions had already shifted, leaning in to form a little huddle of the arctic dwellers. 

“...how much do you think we say?” Phil asked almost inaudibly, throwing another cautions look at Sapnap before turning his gaze inquiringly on Niki. 

Out of all three of them, she’d been around the longest. Her judgment was key. 

“The truth I think,” Niki sighed, whispery voice slightly solemn. Ranboo nodded in faint agreement, shooting Phil a nervous glance. The ender hyrbid’s eyes almost seemed to radiate the faintest glow of color; an aura of red and green. Phil sent him as reassuring of a smile as he could manage as he leaned back, as their huddle dispersed. 

“Dream has taken Technoblade hostage,” Phil spoke stiffly; loud enough to direct the words exactly at the hunter still fifteen few away. The survivor took a deep breath, steadying the bolt of unconscious rage that seethed beneath his skin. “We intend to track him down and rescue Techno.” 

Sapnap’s emotionless mask faltered for a moment; something genuinely surprised and alarmed and confused and perhaps a tad  _ scared _ flashing across his features. 

“Technoblade was taken hostage,” The hunter said carefully, voice low and cautious. Repeating the words as though asking for confirmation. Phil nodded. The hunter nodded the tiniest bit, an unconscious tilt of the head, and continued- “Technoblade was taken hostage, and- and needs rescuing. And you’re all...doing that. And  _ Dream,  _ what- kidnapped him?”

“So it seems,” Phil mumbled bitterly, and Sapnap’s gaze met his own, burning deep into his mind as they locked in a silent, unconscious battle as to who would look away first. 

“Dream kidnapped Technoblade,” Sapnap breathed- light and soft, talking to himself as a bubble of laughter boiled up and escaped; stained and high and Phil winced at the strangled sound that tore itself free from the hunter’s lips.  _ “Kidnapped- _ what a fucking  _ crazy _ idiot-”

“Are you going to help us or not?” Phil asked quietly, and the laughter pettered off. “Does your loyalty lie with the admin?”

Sapnap stared at him for a long, anxious moment. 

“...no,” The hunter said quietly, and his voice was almost gentle. Something melancholy... _ mournful. _ “No. Me and Dream haven’t been- in  _ correspondence _ for a very long time.” 

_ “Please,” _ Ranboo blurted, and the teen surged forward a step, book now clutched in both hands, held tight to his chest. “We- we don’t know any other way to find him.” 

“The manhunt compasses aren’t even  _ on _ this server,” Sapnap shot back, throwing out an arm to gesture around flippantly, some of his angry bravado flooding back in and erasing the odd hurt of his previous words. “You’d have to leave, get to a private world- the compasses might not even  _ work _ anywhere but their home world. We’ve never used them anywhere besides the spigot.” 

The silence stretched, and Phil watched as Ranboo’s determined, vaguely fearful eyes bored deep into Sapnap’s dark, frustrated gaze. 

“...okay! Okay, fucking- stop staring at me, ender boy,” Sapnap burst, snapping his head to the side and looking distinctly away from Ranboo, his eyes instead zeroing back in on Phil. “I- we can  _ try. _ I’d have to backdoor an exit from the server. It might not work. There are  _ zero fuckin’ gaurentees.” _

They didn’t care. 

“We’ll take it.” Phil breathed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot is starting to speed up, my dudes. "Rising action" anyone?
> 
> Sapnap pog
> 
> <3 Obligatory 'thank you so fucking much' to you all and your amazing comments <3


	11. Chapter 11

The tension in the air was palpable as four figures carefully made their way through the quiet outskirts of the SMP. The air was cool and silent; ringing with an early morning chill that hovered like a gentle fog. The sun was still too new in the sky to have warmed the air, even as it shone golden and bright with the illusion of heat that didn’t yet exist. 

It became apparent, to the arctic dwellers, that likely not another soul was awake. Schedules were a thing of the past- war time had ceased. And with it, people slept as late as they pleased. Life had become almost too lazy, when abruptly the need for focus and drive and danger suddenly stopped. 

Sapnap led them without fanfare- just a rather gruff, resigned ‘Follow me’ and a sharp gesture with his hand. They wound through the back paths of the land; hopping fences to cut across farmland and slipping around the backs of buildings, curving around the large castle of stone and colored glass that rose above the treetops. 

Philza had never been back to the world spawn, not since he’d arrived. Nor had he spent more than a second there before he had taken off in a dead sprint towards the sounds of explosions and shouting. It felt disturbingly surreal to come back when the air hung with such false peace, such eerie stillness. 

There were crude walls built up around the spawn. Haphazard structures of wood and stone- some so old and odd they appeared almost like ancient ruins. And yet other sections were pale with new wood and modern scaffolding, like patchwork to seal in the cracks. 

They slipped under an arch of stone and into the square courtyard; grass swirling around their legs and catching their boots with its tangled mess of unkempt vegetation. It was common in servers for the spawn, the arrival point, to be a hub. Worlds tended to fan out around the central point like the spokes of a wheel- often admins would build magnificent creations around the centerpiece of their world. 

The spawn of this server was forgotten, unused, uncared for. Just a messy, snarled knot of green plants and dark dirt and walls crumbled and unrepaired. 

It gave the ghostly, timeless sensation of a graveyard. 

“...how are we going to be able to leave?” Ranboo asked tentatively, clearing his throat. His quiet voice was a gunshot in the stillness, echoing around the enclosed area. The teen cringed slightly, lowering his voice even softer as he continued; “There isn't a portal. Can you build one? I thought- can’t only admins do that?” 

It was true- something Phil hadn’t realized until long after he’d left the spawn behind. There was no exit portal, not to this server. It was the focal point of every hub- the glittering blue portal that led you to the expanse of servers in the universe beyond. Set in place and maintained by the admins. 

There was no exit portal here. 

“I’m not an admin,” Sapnap admitted, stepping carefully around the rotting stump of a long dead pine and crouching down to clear away a tangle of grass and vines, revealing a patch of brown earth at roughly the center of the courtyard. “But I can make an exit portal. Or well- not the entire thing, but I can make a sliver, temporary enough that we could leave and come back.” 

Phil stared at the darked haired-  _ young _ man, he realized. Sapnap couldn’t have been barely any older than Niki, and Niki was hardly out of her own teenage years if Phil’s estimation was correct. 

_ He abruptly remembered his own years at that age- server hopping wildly, going from world to world, trying absolutely everything. He couldn’t imagine that time having been spent in a single place. _

“How then?” Phil asked cautiously, watching as Sapnap twisted something on his wrist- a communicator, Phil realized, one modified to be wearable similar to a watch rather than carried in a pocket. “You know how to manipulate the server?” 

“Yep,” Came the stiff, curt reply. Bandaged fingers danced across the screen of the communicator and a floating projection of translucent, greenish-blue light flickered and exploded upwards from the communicator, lines of text sprawling across it in rapid succession. “S’ kinda what me, George and Dream do. Er...did.” 

_ “Woah,” _ Phil heard the whisper beside him; full of faint wonder, and the survivor turned his head to see Ranboo staring at the communicator’s light with wide eyes- the blue catching the already present glow of red and green and making them flash. Beside him, Niki watched the hunter with a distrustful, narrowed gaze- arms crossed and toe tapping anxiously against the grass, a picture of begrudging, but unhappy acceptance. 

The seconds passed- long and stretched, and seconds shifted into minutes. Sapnap was razor focused; squinting faintly, lip worried by his upper teeth, fingers dancing across the blue projection. The only sounds he made were occasional faint grunts of frustration or a whispered, encouraging, ‘come on’- a seemingly unconscious mantra spoken only for himself. 

Impatience began to settle like an anxious pit in Phil’s gut. With every moment that the sun rose higher in the sky- by every degree the air warmed as the world shifted further into day- that was another second of the gnawing, terrible feeling that he didn’t have any fucking idea where Techno was. Or how to get to him. Or if he was okay. 

It was almost nauseating,  _ not knowing. _ Feeling helpless. He clenched and unclenched his hands several times, staring up above the walls of spawn and at the spruce trees beyond, trying and only in part succeeding to instill an artificial calm into his body. 

_ It felt like sprinting towards L’manberg with everything he had in his legs, racing for the hill that concealed the room Wilbur had spoken of in his last and final letter, the one that had Phil dashing across servers at a breakneck pace.  _

_ It felt like an explosion ripping through his body and booming in his ears and it felt like Wilbur’s hysteric sobs and it felt like a limp, lifeless corpse in his arms, warm with blood.  _

He didn’t want to be too late again. 

“How long will this take?” He blurted out, and even to his own ears his voice sounded unnaturally frustrated and strained. Sapnap for the first time tore his eyes away from the projection, gazing up at Phil with an awkward tilt of his neck and a small glare. 

“Awhile, Philza,” The hunter said, and his voice was surprisingly cold. “Unless you want me practically publicly broadcasting to Dream that we’re trying to leave the server, this is going to take a long time. I have to be fucking careful.” 

It hadn’t occurred to Phil that Dream might know they were messing with the server- through it felt stupidly obvious now, that the admin could realize. Nor had it occurred to him that they might try to prevent that, might try to be cautious. 

“I don’t care if Dream knows what we’re doing,” Phil admitted honestly, sucking in a long breath. A deep, irrational,  _ vengeful _ part of his mind whispered ‘ _ good.’ _ Good, Dream should know they’re working against him. He should be worried, he should be  _ scared. _

His logical mind shoved that away with a dismissive reminder that surprise was a valuable tool, and stealth was always the better option. 

“Well  _ I _ care if Dream knows what we’re doing,” Sapnap shot right back, a lock of black hair falling across his face as he jerked his head back around, hand returning to his communicator. “And I’m the only one who knows how to do this. So sit down, be quiet and let me work.” 

Before Phil could say something he might possibly regret later on, a cold hand settled on his arm, jolting his attention away from the hunter. Phil sucked in a startled breath as he turned to see Ranboo right beside him- and for a second their gazes met. And Phil was  _ drowning, _ there was a buzzing in his mind, his vision flashed with color, spinning wildly-

Ranboo’s expression shifted from concerned to abruptly confused- face and jaw going slack, eyes widening in surprise. 

Then as quickly as it began Ranboo snapped his head to the side, shattering the eye contact and air rushed right back into Phil’s lungs. 

_ What the fuck. _

“Ranboo?” Phil managed, resisting the urge to cough, something alarmed and curious and slightly desturbed clogging up his throat. 

“I- I don’t- I don’t know,” The ender hybrid stuttered, arms pulled tight to his chest, head stubbornly turned away. Ranboo took a deep breath and seemed about to speak once more- only to suddenly be interrupted by a light, airy, slightly echoey voice that rang out across the courtyard loudly.

“...wow, there’s a lot of you here, isn’t there? Hi Phil!”

“...Ghostbur?” Phil asked numbly, eyes still fixated on Ranboo. After a second, Phil took another steadying breath and finally turned his head to look around- caught Niki and Sapnap doing the same- and his gaze settled on the pale, translucent specter that floated atop one of the walls; perched there, legs swinging idly in the air. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh I was just going for a walk!” The ghost hummed, tilting his head to the side, eyes distant and gazing out towards the horizon; a dully serene smile twisting his lips. The edges of his form spluttered and sparked. The ghost startled as though coming back to reality, then glanced down at them. “Oh! Hi Niki!”

Ghostbur seemed to light up- a bright smile filling his face and softening his eyes; something almost childishly excited. 

“...Will,” Niki greeted back, and her voice was strained and thin and trembling faintly. Phil quickly snapped his head to the side to look at the young woman, who stood transfixed; gazing up at the spirit. Her hand clutched her sword in a white knuckled grip, her face raw and open with a waring expression of utter grief and terrible fury. 

Phil remembered, abruptly,  _ someone _ telling him that Niki hadn’t known about Wilbur’s death, not until the fall of New L’manberg. That only a few weeks ago was the first time she’d truly known that the man was gone. 

“Oh...are you angry with me?” Ghostbur asked, face falling. Disappointment colored his words a sad grey, his smile drooping into a tiny frown. “I am sorry, you know.” 

Phil felt suddenly like he was witnessing something that really ought to be very private. 

“You- you-” Niki’s words spluttered out and she turned her head to the side, breaking gaze with the ghost, fixating her eyes on the tangled, too-tall grass of spawn. Her chest rapidly rose and fell with heaving breaths. Ranboo tentatively glanced in her direction, then up at Ghostbur before he offered the specter a small wave and a tiny, sympathetic smile. 

Ghostbur brightened a little and waved back. “Hello Ranboo.” 

Sapnap had turned back to his focused work, so Phil carefully stepped around him and walked over closer to Niki, watching as Ghostbur pushed off of the wall and floated down to the ground, the wispy toes of his boots landing without sound a centimeter above the earth. Phil paused to rest a hand gently on Niki’s forearm, throwing the girl a small, concerned, questioning gaze. 

“I’m alright,” She whispered, voice fragile and sounding barely a second from snapping. Phil squeezed her arm softly, with as much reassurance as he could. The magenta haired woman sucked in another breath and relaxed the tiniest bit, flicking her eyes to meet Phil’s. 

She looked exhausted, Phil took in. Her body bled a tiredness that was far more than physical. A weight inside her like leaded tar. The survivor had seen exactly the same expression on so many people. On Manifold, barely a day ago. On Tommy, when Phil saw him and Techno returning from L’manberg. On Wilbur, as tears streamed down his cheeks and as his hand- dark with fraying, worn, fingerless fabric- hovered over a wooden button. 

A jolt of something almost like fear flashed through Phil’s heart- lightning fast and razor sharp. Niki’s eyes gleamed with the fire of someone decaying and unraveling. Phil realized mournfully that it was probably Wilbur’s fault. 

“Hey,” The elder man whispered- too soft for anyone to hear. The background noise of Ranboo and Ghostbur chatting (One voice cautious, curious, the other far too full of energy-) filled the silence, the two oblivious to their conversation. “I’m here. We’re here.”

“...I know,” Niki murmured back, shoulders slumping, expression softening into something sad as her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Phil’s hand slipped down until it touched Niki’s gloved palm, and the young woman threaded her fingers through his, clinging like Phil was a lifeline. “I...he’s not Wilbur, is he?”

“No,” Phil breathed, voice catching. Emotion clogged his throat for a second. “No. No, he’s not. Not- not the Wilbur you knew, anyway.” 

Niki opened her eyes once more, fixing Phil with a curious hazel gaze. Their hands squeezed one another so tight circulation was failing them both, but neither pulled away. “Is he a Wilbur that you knew?”

Phil swallowed. “...there’s- there’s echos. Of my son. Ghostbur is a child version of a man. He’s naive and innocent and optimistic like Wilbur was, when- when he was a kid. A little kid. And he’s creative and poetic like Wilbur grew to be. But he’s just- just some- some essence, some remnant of him. A  _ ghost. _ He’ll never express all that Wilbur was.” 

“You  _ love _ him,” Niki whispered, and their eyes couldn’t look away from one another. “You always did, I think. You still love him, even after everything.” 

“...yeah,” Phil admitted softly. Like a confession. Because he did. He loved his terrorist son. He loved the child, and the poet, and the general, and the villain. No level of disappointment or grief would ever be able to tear his love away. 

“I do too,” Niki blurted, and her eyes flooded with tears as her entire body rocked with a sob, loud enough that Phil heard Ranboo and Ghostbur stop talking, momentarily distracted and startled. “I still love him. And I hate him, I hate him so so  _ so- so much-” _

Niki’s legs gave out and the woman collapsed to the ground, bawling. Phil caught her on the way down and they landed on their knees together, clutching one another tightly. Philza pulled her tight into his arms, his own eyes stinging as Niki’s fingers twisted into his robe like a vice, like the green fabric was the only thing holding her in reality. She sobbed into his shoulder, and it felt like he was holding Wilbur. Like there should be hot, terrible blood filling the air between them, like there should be wheezing, failing breaths audible instead of cries.

“It's okay,” Phil whispered helplessly, voice breaking, letting the girl cry her heart out like she probably had needed to for months. “It’s okay to hate.” He turned his head to see Ranboo’s mouth slightly open; eyes fixated on Niki, something heartbroken in his face. 

Ghostbur stared at the girl with an almost emotionless expression- confusion and something akin to worry flickering behind dead, grey eyes. 

“...do you want some blue?” The specter whispered tentatively, and though his echoing voice was so, so very soft, it felt like a gunshot across the silent spawn where the only other sound was aching cries. 

Phil heard Niki sniffle, and felt her shift against him, watched her face rise from its hiding place to look at the ghost of Wilbur with red rimmed eyes and a damp face. 

“...okay,” She whispered, barely audible, and sniffled, extracting a hand to wipe her eyes. “S-sure, Ghostbur.” 

Ghostbur perked up slightly and drifted closer- extracting a hand from his pocket to display a small, polished stone of lapis lazuli. Niki took it gingerly, cradling it in her hand like it was a bomb, like it was something precious and dangerous and toxic all at once. 

“...I’m not Alivebur,” The specter said softly, and he floated downwards to where he’d be kneeling if he could, leaning down to level his face with Niki’s. Phil hugged the girl gently and stayed silent, watching the unbroken staring contest between the ghost and the magenta haired woman. “I don’t- don’t know how he hurt you. But I have good memories of you, Niki. Like- like the smell of bread. And your baking. And you teaching how to make flower crowns in L’manberg.” 

Niki’s eyes flooded with unshed tears once more and she hiccuped, clutching the blue stone to her chest. 

“I hope maybe we can be friends one day,” Ghostbur murmured, voice soft, yet bright with a sort of glowing hopefulness. “But it’s okay. I know people hurt, looking at me. And I am sorry, for what Alivebur did. He wasn’t a good man.” 

“He was,” Niki breathed, voice trembling. “He was a good man. He  _ was. _ Not in the end, but he was.” 

Ghostbur tilted his head. 

“...surely a good man wouldn’t make you cry?” He asked cautiously, echoing voice almost nervous. And it was Wilbur’s voice. Wilbur’s face, furrowed with grief, but the words were of a completely different entity. 

Niki hiccuped, body deflating against Phil’s chest, drained of energy. 

“Thank you for apologizing, Ghostbur,” She said quietly, eyes fluttering shut once more. “...thank you for the blue.” 

“You’re welcome,” The specter smiled slightly; small, but genuine, and he floated back to his feet, hands wringing anxiously. “I ah- did not mean to make this all so sad. Um...goodbye, Niki. Ranboo. Phil.” The ghost gave Phil a small nod and Phil nodded his own head back slightly. 

“Goodbye Ghostbur,” He said, and his voice came out softer than he expected. He felt Niki take a long, deep, shaking breath against him, and he tightened his arm around her shoulders for a second reassuringly. “Stay safe.” 

“I will,” The ghost nodded determinedly, his normal confidence bleeding back into his translucent form. And then he was gone, just a flash of human-shaped fog running under the arch of the spawn walls and disappearing into the forest back in the direction of the SMP. 

“...are you okay Niki?” Ranboo asked tentatively, after silence stretched too long, fiddling with his long, slender fingers worriedly. 

“I...yeah. Yeah,” The woman replied, finally leaning fully away from Phil, pulling her arms free to wipe at her face with the sleeve of her trench coat, attempting to clean away the evidence of her grief. “Sorry, I...I wasn’t prepared to see him.” 

Ranboo walked nearer and sat down, reaching out a hand to awkwardly pat Niki’s shoulder once and offering her a small, careful smile. 

“It’s okay,” Phil filled in for the both of them, offering the edge of his cloak for Niki to better dry her eyes with. He took a second to scrub at his own face and dry the unshed tears that had been burning for several minutes now. 

They sat in silence for a long stretch of time- all of them simply cross legged in the grass, all within arms reach of one another. A sense of understanding and comradery flared in Phil’s chest- warm and bittersweet, and he realized he had been very right. Niki was indeed someone who had loved Wilbur just as much as he. And unlike him, she’d been there for his rise and fall. She’d seen him decay as Phil had server jumped, just trying to reach this obscure world. She’d witnessed what Phil had been too late to stop.

The survivor studied Niki and Ranboo silently, throat tight and clogged as he gazed at the tired pair. He wanted to help them. He’d wanted to help Ranboo for a long while now- ever since the fight that ended L’manberg. He’d gone back for a reason, and Phil still remembered finding the ender hybrid sitting at the edge of the crater, a wreck of anxiety and lingering panic and clearly jumpy- somehow  _ jumpier _ then he’d been in the actual fight. 

It had felt right, to offer him a home. And now it felt the same for Niki. Niki who had caught Techno’s eye, Niki who was perhaps maybe the only person who truly understood the thoughts that plagued Phil’s mind every night. 

She clearly needed a home just as much as Ranboo had, and Phil hoped dearly the Syndicate could be that. That he and Techno could be that. 

Perhaps the four of them truly could heal, if they were all together. 

  
  
  


They sat with their own thoughts and each other’s silent company until Sapnap rose to his feet from his position twenty feet away and cleared his throat awkwardly, jolting all three arctic dwellers back to reality. The hunter looked mildly embarrassed- he clearly had overheard the entire exchange that had gone down about half an hour ago, and the air was still riddled with an emotionally charged tension. 

“I’m about to open the portal,” He announced, voice confident, but quiet with a sort of grim tiredness. “But I’m only going to be able to take one of you with me. Ideally I’d go by myself, but- to be completely honest, I’d rather not. But the more people that go, the more attention we’ll draw and the longer this will take.” 

“I’ll go,” Phil said, clearing his throat to rid it of any remaining dryness as he climbed to his feet, brushing leaves and dirt from his robes. “I was planning to whether you wanted me to or not, really.” 

“I figured,” Sapnap drawled, voice annoyed and unsurprised. “Come on then, old man. The faster the better.” 

“Wait- Phil, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ranboo piped up, glancing nervously between Phil and the hunter. Niki looked similarly ready to protest- eyes narrowed with an impressive expression of distaste despite the blotchiness of old tears softening her features. 

“Oh for fucks-  _ why _ would I go through all this trouble to fuck you over  _ now?” _ Sapnap complained, throwing his hands out in a fed-up gesture. “Besides- me and Phil are probably pretty evenly matched, if you’re all that concerned.” 

“It’ll be okay,” Phil promised, nodding resolutely to his two companions. “We’re getting the compass, and going after Dream.” And they  _ would, _ if Phil had anything to say about it. He was more than ready to fight Sapnap if something went awry, and Phil suspected they all knew that- the hunter included. “We’ll be back soon.” 

“...we’ll keep guard,” Niki replied, nodding solidly and slowly getting to her feet, picking up her netherite sword once more and squaring her shoulders. Slowly, before Phil’s eyes, she bled back into the strong soldier Phil knew she was. “Good luck.” 

Phil shot both of his companions a quick smile, and turned towards Sapnap, closing the distance between them. 

“Ready?” Sapnap asked. “I’ll open the tear, and we go through. Faster the better.” 

“Ready,” Phil agreed, drawing Techno’s sword from his sheath and holding it in a light, yet firm grip. Sapnap twisted his wrist in a quick shake and the projection from the communicator sprung to life once more. With a swipe and a quick typing motion with his fingers, a low rumble briefly shook the ground- and then a flash of light erupted from the air directly in front of them. It was as though the very space itself twisted and parted, revealing a slash in the air that opened up wide enough to walk through- filled with a swirling pale blue that hummed and twisted like the nether portal- but cool instead of radiating heat, pale where the nether portal was a dark violet. 

“Go,” Sapnap instructed sternly, and Phil dove forward into the light. 

Philza was more than familiar with server traveling. The sensation was hardly any different than that of shifting dimensions- that is to say it felt like falling and flying all at once- felt like a swirling in the stomach and like nausea and vertigo and an inability to breath as invisible hands of force grabbed your clothes and arms and yanked you along-

And then he was standing in grass- surrounded by the warm, sweet smelling breeze of a prairie, the fully formed structure of the world-spawn portal at his back- shining obsidian with a distinctive golden sheen, not found anywhere else in any world.

With a flash of blue light, Sapnap stepped through a second later; hair and clothes windblown and catching his breath slightly, but other than that impressively unfrazzled. 

“It worked,” The hunter remarked- sounding just relieved enough that Phil quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. “...oh come on, there was always a margin of error.” 

“Are we in the right place?” Phil asked instead of commenting, glancing around at the clear, untapped world- just nature stretching out, not a build or sign of civilization in sight. 

“Yep,” Sapnap nodded firmly, and something almost nostalgic gleamed in his eyes as he glanced around. “This was the last world we used for our manhunts. This way.” 

The hunter strode off in the general direction of the rising sun, and with one last sweep of the plains around them, Phil clutched his sword a little tighter and followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update poggggggg
> 
> Sorry for the delay folks, school properly started up once more and my energy got totally sapped by the work.
> 
> I reread so many of your comments during my break and they really spurred me on, thank you all so much <3 <3 Much love


	12. Chapter 12

Sapnap strode forward through the world with a confidence that spoke of familiarity with the landscape. Phil trailed behind the younger man, letting his gaze sweep across the terrain- absorbing the warmth of the early afternoon sun and the faint chirp of birds; the flowery scent of prairie grass melding with an earthy smell of dirt and distant river water. 

The nature was serene and untapped- and besides the glittering world portal that grew smaller and smaller in their wake, Phil couldn’t distinguish a single sign that any person had ever set foot on the land. 

They walked in quick silence until field melted into forest; grass growing shorter and darker, large sturdy oaks rising up from the meadow around them to canopy the sky away behind an umbrella of emerald leaves. 

“It’s beautiful,” Phil blurted- unable to help himself. He’d always admired nature. Landscapes. Stretches of untouched biomes. 

“It is,” Sapnap agreed after a second- slightly stiff, but something softer; nostalgic almost, coloring his words. “Didn’t usually have time to take it all in, though. What with us all sprinting full speed the whole time.” 

“You didn’t ever live here?” Phil asked curiously, stepping around a fallen log and quickening his pace for a few seconds to keep up with the quick-footed hunter. 

“Eh,” Sapnap admitted noncommittally- hand straying to the sword at his hip as the forest began to grow denser, pockets of darkness running the risk of cradling monsters in their shadows. “Kind of. We had a little area. Didn’t explore much, though. It was a lot more fun if none of us knew anything about the terrain.” 

Phil couldn’t pretend to be an expert on the ‘Manhunt’ games that Dream, Sapnap, George, Bad and Ant had grown infamous playing. He knew enough to know the tales were widespread, and the reputation of the five long preceded them. He knew the general rules- the hunters and the runner, the compasses, a race to some sort of destination Phil was uncertain of. But not much more. 

“Did you play often?” Phil asked- uncomfortable with the tense silence, yet uncomfortable with speaking. It was an unsettling lose-lose, but curiosity was a stronger motivator than the odd quietness of the empty, pristine severe. 

Sapnap laughed dryly.  _ “Oh  _ yeah. A lot. We kept going- ‘this’ll be the last one’, and then would end up playing three more. Dream had the time of his life, and hey- we loved chasing him and each other around.” 

A flash of hot anger sparked like an ember in Philza’s voice at Dream’s mention. He couldn’t particularly help it anymore- in just barely a day it had become pavlovian, the crystal of fury and rage that rose into his throat each time the admin’s name was spoken. 

“...was he different, back then?” Phil asked, reckless with the hot emotions that loosened his tongue. 

There was no answer. 

  
  
  


Phil trailed silently behind the hunter and around the natural labyrinth of trees until Sapnap jerked abruptly from his steady course, shifting them to walk down into a lower divot of the forest floor. 

A cave opening- half closed up by a seal of rough wooden planks- was the first evidence of any human life the survivor had seen beyond the world portal. It seemed so startling now; alien and out of place amongst the organicness that had been their only companion the whole walk. 

“In here,” Sapnap murmured gruffly, gesturing jerkily for Phil to follow as the hunter ducked his head under the low outcrop and vanished into the shadows of the cave. 

Phil followed without question, slipping through the gap in the planks and blinking his eyes rapidly to clear the spots that remained as he adjusted from bright sunlight to dim shade. 

Before him layed a sort of rustic, rudimentary dormitory- something he might expect to see inside a small log cabin rather than underground. Five cots ringed the vaguely square walls of the room- two neatly made, one completely stripped of any sheets or wools, and two messy as though just abandoned by their sun-risen inhabitants. Rough wooden chairs ringed an equally as makeshift table in the center of the area- chairs haphazardly pushed in, a single unlight lantern just barely catching the sunlight from the entrance with its metal sheen and reflecting flashes of white. 

Phil stood quietly by the exit, watching as Sapnap strode forward, bending close to lift the lid of the lantern. 

A few seconds later, the cave- cavern- base? Was alight with a warm golden-orange glow that danced slightly with the flicker of the lantern flame. Stepping forward now, Phil could see the faint grey tinge across every item in sight- a layer of dust thick enough that when Phil tentatively brushed the wood of a support beam, his fingertips left dark circular marks and came back gritty. This place had been unoccupied for quite a long time. 

Sapnap did not pause to take in the room, Phil realized, refocusing in on the hunter who was already across the small cave space, bent over an open chest and rifling through it. The strange domestic sound of searching for a particular object was soured by how loud it was in this frozen in time, ‘ghost of a residence’ place.

“...they, uh...are they in there? The compasses?” Phil prompted, after Sapnap had been still for a few seconds too long, peering down into the container. 

“Yeah- yeah.” The hunter shook his head and reached downwards, out of sight before slowly rising from his crouched position, something held hidden between his palms. Phil zeroed in on his hands- heart rate jumping with a flash of exhilaration and hope as Sapnap nudged the chest closed with his boot and turned around. 

Sapnap seemed about to withhold the compass- maybe force a conversation, maybe to ask a bargain- but something on Phil’s face must have changed his mind, because after a soft exhale the hunter unfolded his palms, displaying the small, circular metal device resting against the gimy white bandages that encased his hands. 

The lid was shut, needle and display hidden, but even from across the room Phil could see the purple magic gently wisping around it- contrasted heavily against the lantern’s yellow light. 

“...He was, you know,” Sapnap said quietly. His voice was low and serious, and he gazed down at the compass as well, eyes distant with memory. 

“...what?” Phil startled, not following the sudden sentence as he raised his eyes from the manhunt compass to study the hunter. 

“Dream,” Sapnap clarified bluntly. “He  _ was  _ different, back then.” The hunter strode forward with a few quick, sturdy steps, and pressed the compass into Phil’s hands with a desperation that made it seem like the device might burn him if he dared to hold it any longer. 

“Thank you-” Phil began to say, drawing his hands back to peer at the compass- but Sapnap clutched them tighter with his own hands, keeping Phil’s and the compass firmly trapped in place. Something almost seemed to glow in his dark eyes as Phil stared back at the near panicked intensity. 

“Don’t kill him,” Sapnap said-  _ pleaded _ really, because there was something so fragile about his voice. It hung in the silent cave with only the faintest of echos, like thin, beautiful glass that even a fingertip could break. His voice rasped with something hurt and pained. “Not permanently. He’s- he’s a fucking bastard, okay, and he’s not right in the head, and I don’t even  _ know him _ anymore- but don’t kill him.” 

Phil swallowed. 

He held no love for the admin. And while he hadn’t thought in depth of what he might  _ actually _ do once they got Techno back- he knew that murder wasn’t out of the question for a conquest of revenge. 

“...he kidnapped Techno,” Phil pointed out- a weak answer, but he didn’t know how to express to this man- barely out of teenagehood- just the  _ extent _ that his rage reached out. 

“He’s all I have left,” Sapnap murmured, and somehow he sounded so hurt and longing and so  _ bitter, _ so angry. Fury trembled in his grief stricken voice. “Bad and Ant have lost it. George is nowhere to be found. And Dream- he’s still- he was- my friend, okay? I don’t know what  _ happened  _ with him, but- I need to know giving over this compass isn’t signing his death warrant.”

For a long moment they simply stood there. Sapnap’s hands were clammy and faintly shaking against Phil’s own fingers, and the compass was cold and smooth within his own palms. 

Philza inhaled softly, and dipped his head in a small nod of acknowledgment, of acceptance. 

“Alright,” He agreed solemnly, and he heard the breath of relief and pain and anger all at once that slipped from Sapnap’s lips. 

“Alright,” The hunter echoed back, and released Phil- something conflicted, yet relieved twisting across his face. Philza studied him for a moment more before he looked down- thumb finding and pushing the small button on the side of the compass. 

The lip popped open with a gentle snapping sound, and the survivor gazed down at the spinning needle, something thick rising up in the back of his throat. 

  
  
  


They walked quickly back to the world portal- nearly running. Neither man looked back at the small cave and its entrance of planks and echoes of the past. 

The swirling vortex of blue brought them home.

  
  


“Oh my god you’re  _ back,”  _ Niki breathed, the first audible thing beyond swirling and buzzing and dizzying  _ ‘vwoops’ _ of the portal and Phil was taken aback by the emotion, the utter  _ relief _ in her voice. He tilted his head up, getting his bearings, and watched Ranboo and Niki both scramble to their feet, rushing forward to greet them. 

Curious, Phil glanced around. Nothing much seemed changed. It was morning, and the birds hummed, orange sunrise tilting the horizon. The spawn seemed much the same- the gently smoking embers of a dying campfire within a ring of stones where Ranboo and Niki seemed to have set up camp. 

Phil paused, and frowned, looking up at the sky once more; beautiful with pink hues and golden yellows. 

_ Sunrise. _

It had been long past sunrise when they had left. 

“How long have we been gone?” Phil blurted, something akin to panic rising as he snapped his head down to look at Niki, suddenly breathless. 

“It’s been nearly a day!” Niki almost shouted back, hands clenched at her sides. Her fury went right past Phil, directed at the hunter that took up the rear. “You guys have been off the server for almost twenty hours.”

Fuck.  _ Time differences. _

The thing about servers was that each one was a unique world. Everything varied between them. Technology, knowledge, permadeath- some worlds had magic and some had machines Phil couldn’t dream of understanding and some you could never die on, no matter how severe the wound. 

Time was just another construct that varied from world to world. 

“It couldn’t have been more than a few hours on our end,” Phil said numbly, a rising panic deep in his throat. Fuck.  _ Shit. _

“Don’t get mad at me,” Sapnap growled, and his voice hadn’t entirely recovered from the emotions he’d displayed in the other world- a slight rasp to his tone. “I didn’t have a reference for the time difference. I couldn’t have given you an estimation if I’d tried.” 

“Did you get the compass?” Ranboo asked, tactfully cutting off Niki as the woman went to argue right back with the tense hunter. Phil nodded- still a bit shaken, not quite grasping that twenty hours had passed- and reached into his pocket, fingers closing around the smooth metal of the compass. He drew it out- the violet glow of magic sparking around his hand as he displayed the compass out like a valuable gem. 

This was the moment of truth, he realized. 

_ Work, please. _ He willed. Phil closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds, snapped them open, and pressed the button to open the compass with the faintest ‘click’ of the spring ringing in his ears. 

The needle of the compass swung left, then right- then wobbled and spun in a full circle before continuing to dance and meander in seemingly pointless directions, with no fixed point. 

Phil’s entire body went cold with dread. 

“It doesn’t work?!” Ranboo burst out loudly, desperation raising his voice to a near shout. “No- no it should, it should!” The ender hybrid rushed forward, and his cold hands encircled Phil’s own until both of their hands cradled the compass together. Phil could only watch the teen numbly- watch Ranboo stare downward at his palms with horror slowly filling his green-red eyes. 

“Why won’t it- it isn’t- NO!” 

The shout from the hybrid slammed through the quiet spawn as Ranboo yanked his hands away, turning around, fingers rising to clutch his hair in desperate, trembling handfuls. His body folded over at the hip like it was bending under weight and Phil could only stare, mouth dropped- held frozen by shock and panic and his own numb sense of painful defeat crawling up his throat like bile. 

Ranboo’s voice buzzed with static as he screamed out- half in fury, half like he was about to cry- “IT WAS SUPPOSED TO WORK!” 

“Woah- woah, woah!” Sapnap’s voice cut through the fog as the hunter rushed forward between them- glancing once at the compass still cradled in Phil’s hands and once at the survivor’s face before turning his attention fully on Ranboo- a flash of concern and fear and stiff determination twisting Sapnap’s face into a resolute frown. “Kid. Ender boy.  _ Ranboo. _ Take a deep breath, the compass  _ will  _ work.”

With a braveness that sent a shock of genuine admiration through Phil’s frozen mind, Sapnap stepped towards the teen, lowering a hand onto Ranboo’s shoulder- only responding with an unmoving flinch as Ranboo jolted his head up to scream in Sapnap’s face- something wordless and filled with garbled static, his eyes flashing with light. 

_ “Ranboo,” _ Sapnap repeated- voice wavering with uncertainty, but clearly refusing to back away. “I can’t promise- but it would make no sense for the compass not to work, okay? I helped make these things- you listen to this too Phil, you look like someone killed your cat.”

Phil forced himself to fully focus in on the hunter, physically shaking his body back to reality. Okay, calm. He could do calm. 

He sucked in a shaky breath and pulled the compass closer to his chest. 

“I helped make these,” Sapnap repeated, and his voice had lost its urgency, going calmer and more soft with reassurance as he glanced between Ranboo and Phil both. “Once they’re locked on, they auto update on location near constantly. But they have a refractory period, if you switch their target, or- I assume- take it to a different server. You just have to wait for it to refind its target.” 

“And when will that be?” Niki asked. Her voice was cold, but the softness of her tone swept through Phil like a comforting wave. It seemed to have a similar effect on Ranboo, who deflated like a balloon, stepping away from Sapnap as he blinked and seemed to slowly come back to himself. 

Sapnap winced. 

“Midnight,” He admitted. “It hard resets at the start of each day.”

_ “...midnight,”  _ Phil echoed, and his chest felt cold. The metal of the compass in his hand felt colder. Ice. “Midnight. You mean to tell me we have to wait an entire ‘nother fucking  _ day _ for this thing to be useful? When it’s already morning because we spent  _ twenty hours _ in another world?” Philza gestured wildly around the spawn as he spoke. No. No this was so  _ unbelievably _ unacceptable. 

“You don’t have a  _ choice,” _ Sapnap snapped back, jabbing a finger in the elder man’s direction. “I helped you, okay? I got you your compass. I did the best I could, so you could hunt down and attack a man I knew for  _ years. _ Don’t bitch at me, old man.” 

“We can’t  _ afford _ two days wasted!” Phil shouted right back, and he was near blind with fury. His clammy hand squeezed like a vice around the compass as he surged forward wildly until he was near nose to nose with the hunter. “We can’t! Techno- he-  _ two days, _ we can’t-”

Slim arms encircled Phil’s waist, and the man felt himself be pulled back and away. For a second he fought- surging forward, twisting around to flail and punch- only to hear Niki’s voice hissing, strained- “Phil- Phil breathe, breathe.” 

He  _ wasn’t  _ breathing right, he realized. Air was coming in thin pants, and his head spun. 

Niki pulled him back and then gently to the grass, and Phil heaved for oxygen, eyes burning hot and painful and he wanted to throw up. 

He couldn’t wait another day, doing  _ nothing. _ Techno was hostage- hostage to a man who clearly didn’t care about harming  _ children  _ if it so met his needs, and the fear that something was horribly wrong, that Techno might be hurt or  _ worse _ was eating him alive. 

Warm hands squeezed his, and Niki repeated- “Breathe, Phil.” 

Slowly, he breathed. Phil didn’t register he was crying until his own sobs reached his ears- until he felt the itchy trail of tears rolling hot down his cheeks in endless waves. 

Niki hugged him, and Phil was too exhausted to feel shame as he sobbed into her shoulder, his body hitching with each shuddering inhale.

“...I’m sorry,” He heard Sapnap say- and the hunter sounded genuinely remorseful, voice slightly awkward and soft with an empathic attempt to be gentle. “I wish I could do something, but I...can’t. It’s how they’re designed.” 

A whole day of not being able to do anything. 

Another sob tore itself free from Phil’s lips. 

He just wanted his fucking friend back. 

\---

Boots settled with substantial weight against the too-smooth igneous surface of blackstone and obsidian. 

The quiet rhythmic clack of metal pieces clicking filled the enveloping stillness of the corridors with each solid footstep- the sound of belts brushing, of a sword shifting in its sheath. 

Punz moved promptly; with quick pace and the care of someone with a timetable to meet, with obligations to carry out that stretched far beyond this simple visit. However even the mercenary would admit this was probably the most- interesting? Was that the right word- thing he’d be doing that day. 

He paused, turning to raise his hands to a control panel of levers and buttons and not for the first time- and not for the last, he was certain- a flash of almost childlike amazement towards Sam swirled its way giddily around his heart as he carefully manipulated the mechanisms with practiced, gloved hands. 

He could not  _ believe _ that Pandora’s Vault existed, truly. To Punz the building was something out of a dream. Something grand and unreachable, so impossibly complicated that surely it could not be feasible without the use of magic that humankind had yet to understand more than simple weapon enchantments. 

And yet as the hum of redstone filled the air; a whirring and clicking of gears and activating sensors- he found himself proven wrong. Somehow, Sam had done what Punz surely had through impossible. 

He stepped back from the control panel and made his way to the center of the room, stepping carefully off the lip of blackstone and down onto the smooth, pale grey stone brick platform that presented itself to a curtain of lava. 

Like clockwork, and with the deafening  _ ‘boom’ _ of heavy stone pistons sliding into place, the huge fall of simmering lava began to part; long streams of orange slowly moving to the side until a long bridge of steaming stone brick spread out between the molten rock like a grey palm with unfurled, splayed fingers. 

Sucking in a calming breath- traversing between waterfalls of lava was unnerving no matter how common an occurrence it was in this extensive compound- Punz stepped forward, fingers holding the edges of his cloak tight to his body to prevent the fabric from catching the smoldering embers. 

Heat swirled in a mirage of sweltering mist across his vision- distorting the bricks and warm glow like TV static as Punz moved briskly forward towards the distant arch of obsidian at the end of the molten corridor. 

The guarding bars of the cage- faintly glittering netherite- retracted into the floor as he neared, shuddering into place with a faint slam of metal as Punz stepped into Pandora’s Vault’s deepest cell. 

“Hello,” came the greeting from the dimly lit cell; voice emanating lowly from the kneeling figure a few feet from the entrance. Punz swiped his gaze briefly over Sam’s form- the glittering gold armour, the faintly pulsing green light of the respirator- and nodded back in acknowledgment to the builder.

Sam turned his attention back to the cell’s only other occupant; lying still on the floor, partially hidden by the folds of green fabric that fell off of Sam’s arms and down his back like a gentle wave. Punz stepped to the side- the footfall of his boot echoing in the confined space- and let his gaze settle firmly on Technoblade for perhaps the first time since the man’s arrival at the prison.

Before Pandora’s Vault, Punz had only seen Technoblade from afar. He’d seen him during the reign of Manberg; atop the festival stage, glowing in the smoke of fireworks- and again, standing between Wilbur Soot and Schlatt, shield raised protectively to block the revolutionary from danger as Punz himself and Fundy had leveled crossbows point blank at the pair. He’d fought against the man again as L’manberg crumbled- slashing at dogs and at the warrior himself, dancing through battle until it was clear all was lost and he could back off without the suspicion of quick surrender registering in his war worn ‘allies’.

_ Somewhere in the middle, however brief, they had been on the same side. The same side, as Punz launched himself off of a bridge, snow ball in hand, hurling it at the young president with a hand hovering over a lever, a death sentence on his lips.  _

__ _ And despite his best efforts to carry out his orders, the lever had still been pulled. The anvil had dropped.  _

__ _ Punz remembered that ear shattering  _ ‘BOOM’  _ and how the entire skirmish had froze for three breathless seconds; everyone transfixed with shock and wonder at the golden light that emanated from the stage like ripples of pure power- swirls of green and red amongst the yellow, encapsulating Technoblade’s form as the warrior’s eyes glowed crimson like Punz had thought impossible.  _

__ _ And Technoblade had run from the now bent, twisted, hunk of melted metal that had once been a cage without a scratch on him, leaving a wake of withering golden magic streaming out behind him like some impossibly godly cloak.  _

The mercenary had seen Technoblade at the absolute heights of dramatic motivation- blazing speeches and ringing explosions and a body twisting with the deadly dance of war held as gently as the finest treasures.

In this quiet cell, the warrior’s pink hair stretched out across the obsidian floor in a gentle wave of tangled locks- a slash of bright, soft color against dark stone. Technoblade’s head was tilted away from where Sam diligently tended to his wrists. Eyes shut, chest rising in slow, smooth waves. For once, he was not in motion, not in action. He lay, as still as he ought to have if that execution had not somehow turned out the way it did. 

The air of the cell felt still, stagnant, and incredibly silent. 

“How did his hands get messed up?” Punz asked, splitting the quiet as Sam’s head rose to briefly meet their eyes before returning to his task. The mercenary followed Sam’s gaze down to where Technoblade’s hands rested on his stomach- presumably a position that the builder had maneuvered him into previously.

“Pulling at the chains,” Sam explained calmly. Punz shifted to crouch down on the unconscious piglin hybrid’s other side, watching as Sam threaded a cloth gingerly between the netherite shackles and the pale, surprisingly slender wrists they contained. “Attacked me on the second day.” 

_ “What?” _ Punz jolted, snapping up to look at his co-worker. Sam just hummed faintly in response- sound a distorted buzz behind the respirator- not taking his eyes off of his task. “You never mentioned that.”

“There was no need,” Sam murmured as he leaned back to grab a new cloth from a small bowl of water, returning to dab at Technoblade’s wrists. Glancing back down, Punz noticed now the redness that spread out; vibrant and violent, hidden beneath the deep indigo of the metal. 

“...I thought he was under potion effect,” Punz pointed out, and Sam huffed something soft- another buzz of distorted sound, but Punz was willing to guess it had been a quiet chuckle. 

“Those aren’t indefinite,” The builder chided- like Punz was a child that needed  _ potions _ explained to him. Punz sighed- exasperated, but not truly insulted. He and Sam had spoken so frequently over the Vault’s creation that long ago the mercenary had relaxed enough to be casual around the strange man of redstone and gold. 

“I know  _ that,” _ he grumbled, and Sam laughed faintly again. He turned one of Technoblade’s wrists to better examine them, causing the chain to rattle and clang against the floor. The sound was loud enough that Punz’s gaze quickly snapped to the warrior’s face- but it was just as lax and unmoving as before. Eyes shut, not even a muscle twitch, and a small, loose frown twisting Technoblade’s lips. “...it knocks him out pretty heavily, doesn’t it.”

“It’d knock  _ anyone _ out pretty heavily,” Sam admitted. “Me, you, and him are all rather large people-” The builder gestured with his elbow between him and the unconscious Blade, hands occupied. “-but it’d hit someone smaller or in worse health even harder. Unless you made the dosage proportional, obviously.”

“There’s no way this potion would pass universal regulations,” Punz blurted absently, without really thinking the implications through. He tapped his fingers against the leather of his boot as he shifted in his crouched position. “I’m like ninety percent sure it breaks some sort of ‘ethical wartime’ requirements.”

“I don’t think those exist,” Sam pointed out. “Morals are decided server from server.” 

“But it wouldn’t be officially  _ recognized,” _ Punz persisted, shifting to sit down fully as his legs began to cramp up. “Not like regeneration or turtle master or something.” 

“Some would say that makes it even  _ more _ useful,” Sam pointed out, and Punz shut his mouth. 

They sat in a stretch of quiet; just the faint shift of chains or the scuff of Sam’s boots as the man went through what appeared to already be routine in caring for the prisoner. A part of Punz was surprised with how wholeheartedly the builder had taken up the duty of caring for the prison and its inhabitants- the job as Warden. But really, that had been the crux of he and Dream’s agreement, hadn’t it? The diamonds were second. What came first was the opportunity for Sam to build his dream creation and then the ability to single handedly watch over it after. 

Punz saw and admired a lot of things in Sam. He admired his genius with both tech and simple creative design in building. He admired how  _ wealthy _ the man had somehow gotten, and how secret and on the downlow Sam concealed that power. He admired how the man could fight, and how his weapons and armour were as powerful as you could possibly make them. 

He never would have pegged Sam for a caregiver, never in a million years. But something about this scene rose something curious high into Punz’s throat. 

In the general sense, prisoners were not people to be kind to. Though the mercenary suspected that Sam would be gentle with anyone within his prison, friend or foe. Not permissive, and never indulgent- but gentle, in a way Punz wasn’t sure he could ever be with an enemy.

His job would be an awful lot more difficult if he treated his enemies with care on any terms other than deception. 

As the minutes stretched, Punz realized Technoblade’s silent form made a sort of strained unease curl its way deep into Punz’s stomach. He felt himself tense- body prepared as though he might have to spring himself up and fight. He found himself glancing down repeatedly at the warrior’s closed eyes as though the anarchist might fly to life at any moment and attack. 

“...I wish I could bring Ponk in here,” Sam murmured, snapping the mercenary out of his thoughts. “I still might, even though it’d likely piss Dream off.” 

“...Ponk?” Punz asked, inhaling deeply and focusing in on the builder, tilting his head curiously. “Why him, of all people?” 

“He’s a doctor,” Sam deadpanned, like that should’ve been obvious. He paused for a moment to glance up and raise an eyebrow in Punz’s direction. “Is one in general- specifically was one for Pogtopia during the revolution. He’d know more about this then I do.” 

“...I don’t think visitors are wise,” Punz pointed out, peering idly at the distant, parted curtain of lava, falling slowly just a few feet further then the line of holes in the obsidian floor where the cell bars had retracted. “Is it necessary?” 

For a moment there was quiet, long enough that Punz turned his head back to his co-worker, slightly concerned by the non-answer. Sam had paused, hands settled in his lap, looking down at Technoblade with something conflicted twisted across his features- furrowing the lines between his eyes. 

“The potion intake is concerning me,” The builder admitted finally- voice soft in volume, drenched with a thin coating of something like unease. “We are not  _ meant _ to take this much sedative in this sort a period of time. It’s going to start having severe consequences soon. And withdrawal once it stops- the worse the longer the dosages continue.”

Punz frowned, glancing down at the unconscious warrior. 

“It’s only been four days?” He asked wearily, and Sam shot him a halfhearted glare. 

“Four days of almost constant potion effect,” The warden warned, rising up to his feet. “He’s already tipped up towards a potential fever several times in the last two days. I’m guessing he’d be a lot worse off if he didn’t frequently use consumables in combat. Punz, I take caring for my prisoners’ health seriously.”

Sam’s voice was firm and cold and ringing with the full force of his ‘Warden voice’, as the mercenary had grown to fondly call it. His tone bled a slight, defensive,  _ dare to question me. _

“...alright,” Punz conceded, softening slightly, pointedly not looking at the man who lay between them as he got to his feet, nodding faintly at Sam. “I’ll talk to Dream I suppose.” 

“Great,” Sam murmured, and then he was gathering up the various supplies he had scattered around, moving them over towards the table in the corner Punz had yet to actually notice. “Tell him the potions aren’t a long term solution. I don’t care if Dream’s scared about him breaking out- he’s in  _ netherite chains _ and in a box of obsidian and lava. He’s not going anywhere, no matter how freaked Dream is.” 

“I wouldn’t say that Dream is scared,” Punz argued, brushing imaginary dirt from his legs and drifting closer to the builder, the faintest of warning tones in his voice. “Cautious. And rightly so.” 

“The man’s just human,” Sam replied stiffly, gesturing without looking towards Technoblade’s form. “Hybrid or not. He’s as limited as you or I. He’s no more likely to get out of this cell then Dream himself would be.” 

“Yes well, you try to talk down paranoia,” Punz huffed, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his thick white hoodie and rocking faintly back and forth on the balls of his feet, feeling his cloak swirl around his ankles. “I don’t blame him for being concerned. After whatever the fuck happened at the execution…? And didn’t you say he attacked you?” 

Sam hummed noncommittally, and even before he spoke Punz knew their conversation was over. The stubborn Warden would not be swayed, and Punz didn’t have the no-how to claim he was wrong, either. 

“Potions can’t be long term. Tell your boss there needs to be a change, unless he wants his prisoner getting sick and potentially unstable.” 

“...got it,” Punz murmured, settling his feet firmly back onto the floor and tucking a lock fallen free from his bun behind his ear as he shifted to walk back towards the lava curtain, content to leave Sam to his job. 

He glanced back once- the warmth of the close proximity molten rock sinking through the heavy fabric of his clothes- to look at Technoblade, exactly as still and unmoving as he’d been when Punz had first entered the cell. 

Now, for the first time, Punz caught the faint sight of sweat on the warrior’s forehead; glinting in the reflection of the lava’s glow. 

The mercenary turned and proceeded down the corridor of magma, leaving with disturbingly more thoughts than he’d arrived with. 

\---

Niki’s previous dwelling- her dugout cave, far beneath the earth, was their place of choice to wait out the day. The hours ticked by- slow, grating, painfully endless. 

The members of the Syndicate had drifted together as darkness truly took the world by hold- shifting from restless meandering and idle tasks to sitting within arms reach of one another- idle conversation on their lips, the occasional story or question simply to help the time pass on its crawling ascent. 

Ranboo’s pocket watch had, in the single day, become one of the most cared for objects in their possession. Not that Ranboo remembered where it had come from, or how he had gotten a hold of it. 

All he knew was that it mattered now, in the still, cold damp air of Niki’s cave house, that felt long abandoned despite the mere three days it had gone unoccupied. The cool metal of the miniature clock felt smooth and deceptively soft for all its metallic sheen against the enderhybrid’s palm- the gentle vibration of each rhythmic tick of the second hand settling into his skin like a second pulse, like another false, mechanical heartbeat. 

Ranboo had elected to keep hold of the pocket watch, because for the brief thirty minutes Phil had cradled it in his hands, Ranboo didn’t think he’d seen the elder man glance up once. 

Ranboo didn’t mention to the others how close the time had gravitated towards midnight. Phil and Niki were locked in a rather lighthearted conversation-  _ as lighthearted as anything could be in the tense waiting game of current circumstance- _ and as much as Ranboo considered himself dogshit as social situations, he knew that if he mentioned the time now the discussion would abruptly cease in favor of watching the clock. 

Instead he simply sat- pocket watch concealed by his folded legs and let the quiet, tired murmurs of Niki and Philza wash over him like a gentle hum, a fog of noise as the miniature clock ticked its way forward in time against his curled fingers. 

The compass rested a few inches away from Phil’s side, in clear view on the wooden patchwork bridge that stretched across Niki’s cave. Ranboo watched the second hand tick to its perfect peak, and wordless raised his eyes to glance at the other mechanical device. 

The compass let out a harsh  _ ‘click’ _ that was shattering in the stillness, and both Phil and Niki’s heads snapped to look at it with the speed of frightened rabbits. Ranboo found himself holding his breath, transfixed by the faint flare of violet that bubbled up from underneath the compass like flames- licking across the surface with tongues of lavender magic. 

The needle on the compass began to whirl. 

It spun wildly, so fast for a second Ranboo feared it might break- then halted, slowly drifting side to side, left to right, slow. Once, twice. 

Then the needle finally stilled, pointing exactly due south. The purple flared once more and collapsed downwards, retracting to simply a faint sheen against the metal. 

Ranboo watched as Phil reached out a faintly trembling hand and scooped the compass up to cradle between both palms. 

“...time to go,” The survivor breathed. 


	13. Chapter 13

The scent of pine that hung thick in the air stung Ranboo’s nose as their little posse moved quickly and silently through the dense forest that coated the southern land of the SMP. They were far past L’manberg territory by now- far past the general Greater SMP as well, thoroughly surrounded by untapped wilderness; too rich with animals and flora to have felt the hand of a resource seeking player. 

Ranboo sucked in a deep breath- quickly warming morning air filling his lungs and curling cool and refreshing deep in his chest before he let it out in a short puff of fog that danced away from his lips exactly as it might have in the tundra. 

Had circumstances been different in the last few days, he might still be there. Waking up in his shack to pet his cat and tend to the little garden with green shoots pushing up stubbornly through a layer of frost and sitting down in Techno’s basement to chat with Phil as they coaxed trades from the merchants that had set up shop in the lower levels. 

Instead they walked- marched, really,  _ strode, _ with purpose- southward. Into the unknown, with weapons drawn and hearts cold and a compass pointing them deftly on. 

They’d chosen the circling land over traveling the wide expanse of ocean that also stretched out to the south.

Ranboo had been relieved for the detour- water was not a kind friend. But it meant their travel was green, not blue. Loud with birds and sticks beneath their feet, not filled with the lap of waves and roar of wind. 

As they walked, Ranboo mulled over the fact that he was concerned about a lot of things. 

He was concerned about his recent anger. The desperation that had left him shuddering with a throat raw from screaming at Sapnap; with a head aching from the strain of something oddly cold flooding his veins like a foreign power had infiltrated his body. 

He was concerned about when Phil had froze- shocked, spellstruck; as their eyes had met- and the dizzying, unforgettable blast of static that had consumed Ranboo’s mind, the urge to shriek tearing at his lips. 

He was concerned about the guilt and anger that seemed to be eating Phil up from the inside out- a simmering fear that ripped at the survivor’s calm in a way Ranboo had never seen before Techno’s abrupt disappearance. 

He was concerned about Enderchest- back home in the tundra, safe in Techno’s house but still too far away. 

And perhaps most of all, he was concerned about Techno; in an unknown location, almost certainly trapped. It was difficult for Ranboo to picture Techno in a situation that the man couldn’t escape from- either with his words or with his fists. He’d seen Techno make grand exits with both. 

_ He’d seen Techno run- blazing gold,  _ steaming _ with magic from a cage meant to be his death. He’d seen Techno side step withers and smile wide like the creatures weren’t monsters of chaos that the anarchist had no more control over then any of them.  _

_ He’d seen Techno’s gaunt, stunned, shellshocked expression from across the shambles of the community center. Saw him stare at Tommy like the kid had physically whirled around and socked him in the gut.  _

It had been the first and last time Ranboo had seen Technoblade honest and truly at a loss for words for a few timeless seconds. __

_ And still Techno had escaped, even as the whole server turned their weapons on him. A flash of a pearl. A dive into water.  _

_ Vanishing into the safety of the nether with promises of destruction and revenge and  _ laughter.

Leaves and grass crunched beneath Ranboo’s feet, and the ender hybrid thought. Thought long and hard. 

He considered Technoblade a friend. The teen had never been quite certain if that was reciprocated. Perhaps the comradery of mutual friendship was impossible after whatever had been present between the anarchist and Tommy had crumbled, amidst that crowd. Or perhaps it had been there, and Ranboo had been too uncertain to see it. 

He thought of the brief moment of vulnerability and shock as he’d handed over the axe he’d crafted. Techno had seen so honestly confused- like a rather uninformed puppy- as he’d taken the weapon and tool into his hands with a tentative reverence. 

Of course what had spewed from his mouth was sarcasm and dismissal- begrudging acceptance. But Ranboo remembered that Techno had smiled- something genuine, softer than his usual cold, sharp little grin. 

Ranboo’s hand flew to his suit jacket pocket to finger the ridged outline of his book through the fabric. 

_ ‘Techno decided the axe was ‘acceptable’. He looked almost afraid for a second when I handed it over. But then he smiled. It was a good idea to gift it to him.’ _

Ranboo had read those words over many times- just as he’d read and reread every passage of his book.

The teen certainly had no idea where he stood with Technoblade, not truly. But they were civil. Friendly, even. Techno had let him stay. Had given him his book, amongst doomsday. Had traveled with him to a mansion, cracked jokes, fought at his side to gain the advantage of totems. 

Ranboo hummed a tiny sound and tapped the shaft of his trident. He gazed distantly ahead of him, at Niki and Phil’s backs. Watched Niki’s purple curls of hair dance in the breeze- watched the spots of sunlight filtering through the leafy canopy catch the compass in Phil’s hand and reflect; blinding, bright. 

Ranboo’s policy was people. People were the core of everything. The cogs of the world. Technoblade was a person- of this he was certain. As was Phil. And Techno’s disappearance, regardless of his own feelings towards the anarchist, had affected Phil. Niki.  _ Other _ people he cared about. 

Ranboo’s policy was people, and Techno was a person, and Ranboo  _ helped _ his friends. 

It was easy to walk onwards, with that in mind. 

  
  
  


The travel through the forest was annoyingly easy. 

It was annoying in a way that wasn’t  _ truly _ agitating- there was little hindrance, besides the occasional dip in elevation, the scattering of rivers or streams, the very rare mob tucked away in a shadow. But it was irking, patronizing,  _ teasing _ how simple it all felt. Like the world was mocking the urgency and dramatics of their quest. They were stuck at a slow travel speed, even though the terrain was  _ easy, _ even though they should be rushing. But humans could only walk so fast, run so far, before tiring. 

So they traveled, slow, methodical- and stewed in frustration as the forest shone beautiful and innocent around them. 

The sun was high in the sky- hours past morning, hours of travel past. The air had quickly shifted from cool to warm with the movement of the sun, and the air was golden and clear and bright with fading winter. 

“Fuck,” Phil declared- shattering the stillness and startling a nearby bluebird from its bush with an alarmed ‘sqwack’. The other two players paused, heads turning in unison to watch the elder with partial curiosity, partial concern. 

Phil stared down at the compass in hand. 

Ranboo narrowed his eyes, zeroing in- and abruptly spotted the issue. The compass was pointing north. Back the way they came. 

_ “What?” _ Niki spluttered, taking a step closed to Philza- eyes locked on the device, lips parted slightly in shock. “How- when did that happen?” 

“Just now,” Phil ground out, and his voice was dry and sharp as glass. Rough with fury and high with something that echoed of desperation and hysteria. “Just- just suddenly. It was south, and then suddenly spun north.” 

“How?” Ranboo blurted, echoing their female companion. He flicked his gaze between the compass and Philza’s pinched face. 

“I don’t know!” The survivor sapped, dragging a faintly trembling hand down his face. “There’s no way, not unless- unless he- teleported?” 

It was a question more than an answer, but Ranboo swallowed, stepping back- think,  _ think. _ Was that possible? Surely not, not even  _ he _ could teleport- or at least he didn’t know how. There was no way Dream could’ve- not when he was so shockingly human. Then how-

Ranboo reached the conclusion at the same moment Niki spoke up. 

“The nether,” She said firmly, softly- dismay clear in her voice. “He traveled in the nether from wherever he was in the south, back to- to the SMP, I suspect. The reason the compass didn’t shift to follow him and just suddenly jumped north is because it was pointing to the fastest path to him, like Sapnap said it would. So it was pointing to the nether portal in the south, at least until he came to the overworld.”

“There must be something out there, for him to have a portal to somewhere so far away from the SMP,” Ranboo murmured, shifting his head to gaze out distantly in the general direction they’d been traveling. “A base, maybe? A house?” 

“Or it could’ve been a fluke,” Phil sighed, aggravation coloring his words. He hadn’t looked away from the compass in his palm, still pointing north. “A coincidence, and the being south was a one time thing. Maybe we’ve been traveling this way for nothing.” 

“...it’s possible,” Ranboo allowed. Cautious. He didn’t want to set the survivor off, not when he could visibly see how tense Phil was. How tense they  _ all _ were. “I doubt it though. Dream wouldn’t be making useless trips- not when he knows you’re after him, not when he’s doing something big. I’ll bet you Niki is right, and he has a base or something out south that he travels to and fro from L’manberg.”

“...you might be right,” Phil murmured, tone softening slightly. Ranboo watched the brows between Phil’s eyes furrow- watch a contemplative, more determined expression slowly take over where grief and rage had previously dominated. 

Something calmer and more certain bled into the survivor’s body. 

“We could wait it out for a little bit,” Niki suggested. “See if the compass goes back south? That way we’ll know if we should keep going to turn back.” 

“That’s more time spent doing nothing,” Phil sighed. A split second passed before he nodded firmly despite his words, raising his eyes to look at both of them. “Smart, though. And as much as I hate it, it’ll...save us potentially lost time having to backtrack further if we make a mistake.”

“...if he does go south again...this might be a good thing,” Ranboo considered as they paused, slowly shifting to sit in the grass or lean against tree trunks. Ranboo’s legs all but sung their relief as he finally took his weight off of them- and it made the hybrid abruptly realize how long they’d been traveling without pause, all of them too focused on moving forward. 

He realized Phil was giving him a curious look, and jumped back on his previous train of thought. 

“Well- if Dream  _ does _ have a base he’s periodically traveling to, that means we can set a trap. Wait there, wait for him to pop through the nether.”

“...make him tell us where Techno is,” Phil tagged on absently, eyes fixated into space. Ranboo suspected he was already half talking to himself. “I can’t help, but- well-” The survivor shook himself and tilted his head up, glancing at both of them. “Dream’s a smart man. Batshit  _ insane, _ but smart. I heard as much from Wilbur. I’m worried this is what he wants, for us to charge after him.” 

Ranboo had similar concerns, if he was completely honest. Ones he hadn’t voiced- not with the fury from Phil and the determination from Niki and his own stubbornness roaring in his heart. But a big part of his mind agreed exactly with Phil. Dream was smart. Powerful.  _ Ambitious, _ and perhaps that was the most dangerous trait of all. 

Ambition brought with it unpredictability and innovation. 

There was a chance they were playing exactly into their opponents hands- pawns on a chess board, strings in the palm of a puppet master. 

Ranboo shuddered and ran an anxious finger up and down the spine of his journal.

“...I doubt it,” Niki voice quietly, firmly- staring down at her lap, thin fingers fiddling with the frayed cuffs of her trench coat. The words were quiet and carefully considered- but still too lightly said for how drastically they counteracted both Phil and Ranboo’s fears. 

“Perhaps- maybe he does want you to come after him, Phil. Maybe that was his goal. Maybe he expected you to give chase, after he confronted you in the tundra. But I doubt he expects Ranboo. And I definitely doubt he expects me. Nor for us to have gotten the compass. Dream’s smart, and- and  _ ruthless, _ but he’s not omnipotent. He doesn’t have clairvoyance.”

Niki raised her chin, and Ranboo sucked in a stunned breath because her eyes  _ burned. _ Fire,  _ magma _ pooled within gentle hazel. Her lips were a flat, furious line. “We will be victorious.” 

Ranboo decided that anyone who had ever underestimated Niki Nihachu was a goddamn fool. 

And Dream most certainly had. 

\---

Tommy was no stranger to war preparations. 

In fact, in some terrible, fucked up, no-good very bad way- it was comforting. Familiar. 

For all his recklessness- which was  _ not _ a flaw, thank you very much, ambition was an incredible skill- Tommy enjoyed being prepared. He liked having tools, armour, gear. It was what had made Pogtopia, exile, pre-L’manberg- so irritating. 

Not having stuff was a royal pain in the ass. 

So despite the looming deadline left by Dream’s ominous note, and despite the compass weighing heavy and foreboding in Tommy’s pocket, preparing was almost,  _ almost _ enjoyable. 

It was like the old times. Far back, before their independence. When Wilbur hid away in the van, scrawling their declaration like it was the secrets to the universe- when Eret and Tubbo had reinforced their yellow-stained and blackstone walls stronger and better than ever- when Fundy and Tommy himself had scoured the caves for metals and spent their nights hot and breathless in the heat of the forge, molding ore into deadly weapons and twisting spider silk into sturdy bow strings. 

Perhaps in another life, another world, another server- Tommy would have gone into craftsmanship. 

That sounded  _ far  _ too boring, though. 

Now was the present, however. There was no L’manberg, no Wilbur, no upcoming fight for independence, for a nation. Right now, there was just him and Tubbo, and the afternoon sun as they sat in the grass beside the rubble of Tommy’s old hobbit home- salvaged materials spread around them in a sight that half resembled a tornado swept factory, and half a long overdue garage sale. 

“Big man, we’re not geared for this,” Tubbo said quietly, firmly- his voice jolting Tommy abruptly from his thoughts and from the bent diamond gauntlet he’d been unnecessarily staring at for several minutes now. “Not for a fight.”

“We’re fine,” Tommy argued just to disagree, tossing the gauntlet aside- and they both heard the lie hang in the air clear as day. “We just found some stuff with good enough durability, slapped some netherite into it. Good enough. We’ve got the armour, Big T.” 

“Alright,” Tubbo agreed, and nodded- but doubt colored his words with a sort of heavy exhaustion. To be fair, neither of them had slept a wink the previous night. They’d been busy, as Tommy had mentioned, reforging old armour. 

Tommy’s hands ached from clutching a hammer, and his knuckles smarted with fresh burns from the scorching magma used to imbue the diamond with the ore of the nether. 

“We still need more,” Tubbo continued after another moment, glancing to the side to look out across the landscape of the SMP. There wasn’t anyone in sight besides the two of them, despite the early afternoon being the most likely time for people to be awake and productive. “You say this is it, the big deal, the end- it’s gonna be a fight Tommy, you realize.” 

“I realize,” Tommy complained, sinking back against the back of the bench, closing his eyes to feel the grass beneath him and the gentle shade the bench provided. “I do, Tubbs. But we don’t have time for a nether trip, not for potions. And we’ve got limited enchanted apples.” 

“...surely we can get potions another way,” Tubbo murmured softly, but Tommy knew from his faint voice that his friend was talking to himself. Sure enough, when Tommy cracked over his eyes, Tubbo was fiddling with the fur cuffs of his sleeves, deep in thought. 

Tommy liked potions. He didn’t use them often- especially not now, not when the nausea from all the invisibility with Techno was still rather fresh in his memory. But potions had started everything, really. Him and Wilbur, cooped up in a van that was sweet and smokey with the fumes of brews and the sharp scent of blaze powder- the amazing, loopy,  _ godly _ sensation of consuming a potion of strength. 

Wilbur had cut him off very quickly from those, but Tommy would hold that unmatchable feeling of pure power and confidence close to his heart forever. It had been  _ so fun. _

A part of him missed brewing- missed the smells and the sounds of bubbling and boiling and the warmth from the brewing stand. 

A smaller, yet more vocal part of him was glad he hadn’t made a single potion since L’manberg’s independence. 

(One final bit of himself snarled that potions had killed Schlatt. And in the long run, potions had led to Wilbur’s decay. Tommy liked to ignore that voice.)

He hadn’t seen anyone quite as skilled at the process as Wilbur until he’d spent nights watching Techno brew like the world would end if he didn’t. 

Tommy inhaled deeply- letting Tubbo’s thoughtful, incomprehensible murmerings to himself and the warm air fill his ears and lungs. 

_ Wait. _

Technoblade had a million potions. 

“Tubbo,” Tommy announced, sitting up with a jolt and startling his friend from his thoughts. “Tubbo, big man, I know where we’re going to get our drugs.” 

“...oh?” Tubbo asked, stifling a yawn behind a leather gloved hand and raising an eyebrow. A tuft of dark brown hair that poked out of his fuzzy hood danced in the breeze almost comically. 

“Yess, I do,’ Tommy repeated, shifting to hop to his feet, clapping his hands together. He winced as his head protested the quick change in position, but quickly righted himself, glancing down at his still seated friend. “I think I should just go though, you know. On my own. Solo mission and all that.” 

“You sure?” Tubbo asked, and a flash of something warm and pained all at once rose up in Tommy’s chest. Tubbo had always done that. Had not protested when Tommy said something- just asked, as always, if he was certain. Trust mixed with care. 

_ Where was that trust when you were exiled? _ A nasty part of Tommy’s mind breathed- the part that was still bitter and hurt. He swallowed it down, alongside that odd fond warmth. 

“Absolutely,” Tommy declared, because he was never not sure. Not when it mattered. And so he gave his friend a netherite gauntleted salute and turned, striding off quickly down the wooden boardwalk in the direction of the nether hub. 

He glanced back once to see Tubbo sitting where he’d been before, picking through scattered items, patiently waiting for his return. 

  
  
  


Tommy made his way through the nether quickly and efficiently. By now he long knew the path to Technoblade’s by heart- the journey about half way across his own nether bridge and down through the pillars of basalt before skidding around a column of lava until the portal of obsidian and sparkling purple finally came into view. 

It occurred to the teen with an uncomfortable jolt that he hadn’t taken this trip in a very long time. Not since the whole ‘community house’ incident. 

Tommy winced- shoving his hand deeper into his pocket and he cautiously glanced left and right, making sure the path was clear of danger before he quickly skipped through the hot, muggy air and over to the portal. 

As always, the cold air of the overworld- the  _ especially _ frigid wind of the tundra- brought a shudder of relief through him that melted his bones like putty, and left him breathless for a moment. 

He swallowed it down, stepping cautiously down into the several inches of snow and striding off in the familiar direction of the arctic cabin. 

He hated the nether. 

  
  
  


It occurred to Tommy, as he neared the valley where Techno, Phil and Ranboo resided- that perhaps this was a very poor decision. 

He and Techno were not on ‘good’ terms. In fact, now that he thought about it- they were actually quite on ‘kill on sight’ sorts of terms. He kind of actually really  _ hated _ the anarchist for fucking blowing L’manberg to smitherines and ruining his entire life and destroying everything Tommy had ever held dear on this server.

(Maybe he still held a shred of respect for the man’s honesty. At least he’d treated Tommy with honor, in a way, by being honest about his wants from the start. Not like Wilbur, who spoke of loyalty and peace. Not like Dream, who spoke of friendship and love. Techno, at least, hadn’t pretended to have virtue)

And Techno kind of hated him- for joining Tubbo after that whole community house thing. For standing with government- which had apparently at some point taken a shat in the pigman's potato garden or something, because the anarchist hated them with a passion that  _ almost _ impressed Tommy. 

(Maybe, a teeny tiny itty bitty part of him whispered- it had been kind of rude to leave Techno to the wolves in the community center. Oh the man could handle himself, absolutely- and he was a bitch, he was  _ wrong,  _ wrong about L’manberg- but maybe it wasn’t the best way to say ‘thank you’ for protecting him from Dream.)

Tommy wasn’t good at ‘thank you’s.

And had Tommy also been an individual that thought things through with more meticulous contemplation- like Wilbur or Eret or hell, even Tubbo- maybe he would’ve paused before striding into the tundra, the home of his enemies. Thought of a plan of attack at least. 

Except suddenly he found himself on Techno’s porch, prepared to knock. 

He managed to stop himself before he did  _ that _ foolish motion at least. 

What would Tommy do if Techno, or Phil, or  _ Ranboo _ attacked?

Well, maybe he could take Ranboo. But he doubted the rather neutral ender hybrid would attack anyways. But either way, he really didn’t feel like going toe to toe with The Blade, not on his last life. Or Phil, for that matter, because that man seemed to hold loyalty as his most absolute ideal. 

Maybe he could just convince them to hand the potions over. Or he could steal. 

Convince first- he was a fantastic talker, it would absolutely work. Then, come back and steal if he had to quickly and with haste, tactically retreat. 

Tommy knocked. 

Seconds ticked into minutes as he stood on the familiar porch- frowning and shivering, arms wrapped around himself in a mime of a coat. His frown deepened as he strained his ears to listen. Nothing, oddly enough. Was no one home?

Tommy grabbed the frozen knob, and reflexively twisted. 

To his shock, it opened. 

Now Tommy considered himself a rather rational and utterly fearless individual. Which meant he wasn’t totally comfortable with the bolt of unease that slithered up his spine as he pushed the spruce door open, peeking inside with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. 

The house was dark, and shadowed- fireplace extinguished, lanterns unlit. The only light were squares of white that shone in through the shuttered windows- light that was reflected from the snow and gave everything a rather grey, hueless tone. 

“...hello?” Tommy called loudly, mildly annoyed and slightly creeped out- and opened the door further, stepping inwards and out of the wind. 

The place did seem well and honestly empty. Huh. Well no one  _ was _ home, he supposed. 

Tommy walked into the main room further, pulling the door shut behind him with a gentle ‘click’. The cabin was slightly messy, he realized, now that he took a look around. There were things on the table- a few chests were open, and some empty bags lay on the ground. 

Another curl of something uncomfortable churned in Tommy’s gut. It looked kind of like someone had abruptly left. 

“....Yo, Technoblade!” Tommy yelled- tilting his head to look up the ladder to the second floor, projecting his voice. Then he looked down to call through the ladder to the basement. “Phil! Ranboo!”

Silence met his loud words. 

“Where the hell are they?” Tommy mused, glancing around as he picked his way across the room, towards the chest he remembered Techno showing him prior to their L’manberg trip. It had been filled to the brim with bottles and vials at the time. 

A tiny ‘meow!’ froze him in his tracks- head snapping to the side. 

One of Techno’s spare cloaks- neatly folded- rustled in the corner of the room, and a little, furry black cat head poked out to stare at him with wide yellow eyes. 

“...Hi….Enderchest?” Tommy greeted, inhaling to recover from his start, hoping he remembered the name of Ranboo’s cat right. “...where’s your owner?” 

The cat meowed again, rustled its ears, and disappeared beneath the cloak once more. 

Tommy regretted coming here more with each passing second. 

He shoved that down in favor of the satisfaction and thrill of theft however, and he walked over to the wall to lift the lid of the chest. It was certainly depleted compared to what he remembered- and full of junk (there were a lot of dried flowers…?). But Tommy’s eyes zeroed in on a corner of multicolored bottles and vials- his eyes catching on the pearly white of turtle master and the dark ruddy purple of strength. 

“Bingo,” He whispered, and reached in. 

Perhaps it was the empty, dark house- perhaps it was how it was cold, too cold to have been recently inhabited- perhaps it was that there was no one to play defender to the goods he was pilfering- but Tommy didn’t  _ quite _ have the heart to take all the potions, despite them being laid out so perfectly for his taking. Instead, he selected a few of each type- enough, he decided, for two- and let the lid close with most of the selection still where it ought to be. 

Tommy took another look around the cabin as he tucked the bottles under his arm, and frowned slightly. 

The place was too quiet. Too  _ empty. _ It gave the same uncomfortable atmosphere of the walled in section of Logstedshire, after Ghostbur had drifted off to who knew where. 

  
  
  


Tommy shut the door behind him as he left, and hurried back towards the SMP with potions in hand and a mind already drifting on from the tundra- turning instead to the fight that he knew deep in his bones was laying in wait ahead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it continues. 
> 
> More Tommy lore in this chapter, pogg. The end grows nearer.
> 
> God I love psychoanalyzing characters lmao
> 
> (Your guys comments have literally made my day before. You are all so unbelievably amazing, thank you so much <3 <3)


	14. Chapter 14

Hot. 

Uncomfortably so. Licks of fire crawling through veins, creeping under skin. 

Nausea, and his stomach rolled, and he wanted to throw up. 

_ Awake?  _

He wanted to throw up, but his body was like lead. 

His throat burned. 

_ “You’re a bozo.”  _

__ _ Cold air washed with a gentle whistle across the landscape, and a laugh rose up warm and amused in Techno’s chest despite himself- a small smile twisting onto his lips.  _

__ _ “Rude,” He greeted back, not turning his head away from the orange slash of sunset far in the distance as his enemy- (rival? friend?) settled beside him.  _

__ _ The floating island was an odd place to call home- and really, Techno had never quite liked having a ‘home.’ He made houses and bases that cropped up and were left behind with equal care.  _

__ _ But this island, alone in a void where sunsets and sunrises painted the black and blue with the most brilliant of colors- a small, private subset of a far larger server- _

__ _ He liked it here.  _

__ _ “Shouldn’t you be- pft, like obsessively farming right now? To catch up?” The cocky words came directly from Techno’s right, and Techno didn’t even have to look away from the orange tinted void to picture the man sitting there.  _

__ _ Casual jeans and sneakers. Messy hair that was no more as brushed as Techno’s own, usually. A royal blue hoodie, comically decorated with ridiculously wide bobble eyes.  _

__ “Please,” _ Techno snorted, lifting his arms above his head to stretch. His cloak was set aside, the cold air ruffling refreshingly through the thin white fabric of his dress shirt. “You think I’d be sitting here if I wasn’t sure of my lead, Squid?”  _

__ _ “Cocky idiot,” Squid Kid grumbled. He’d shifted to have his legs crossed, elbow resting on his knee as he propped his chin up on his fist; eyes seeking out the same sunset his rival seemed so transfixed with. “Didn’t take you as a ‘sunset gazer’ kind of guy, Technoblade. Well actually- you quote greek myths, I take that back.” _

__ _ “I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to be offended or not,” Techno murmured, swinging his legs idly where they dangled off the side of the island. The grass pricked at his legs, soft and course under his hands as he twisted his fingers around the blades idly. “And I’ll have you know, I haven’t  _ directly _ quoted greek myths at you. I’ve quoted The Art of War.”  _

__ _ “Just as bad,” Squid groaned, and Techno snorted faintly at the exaggerated tone of dismay and distress. “Stick to potatoes, potato boy.”  _

__ _ “That’s my line,” Techno whined, watching as out of the corner of his vision Squid flipped him off and slumped backwards to lay in the grass, gazing up at the darkening sky.  _

__ _ A comfortable silence spread across them. Just the faint whistle of the wind- the distant chipping sounds of the little minion robots mining, the far off ‘vwoops’ of the hub portals. It was a collection of noises Techno was very at home with.  _

__ _ “I reckon you’re Icarus,” Squid murmured.  _

__ _ “Mm- heh? What?” Techno was startled out of his thoughts, blinking to catch up with the abrupt admission. He turned his head to glance down at his still lying friend.  _

__ _ “Icarus,” Squid repeated, and his voice was unnaturally serious. His dark eyes shifted to meet Techno’s own, lips twisted in a small frown. “Flew too close to the sun.” His lips twisted into a shit eating grin, tone lightening. “Just to fall- just like you will when I kick your butt!” _

__ _ “Oh alright,” Techno groaned, leaning over to shove him as Squid dissolved into giggles. “Oh foolish me- here I thought you were being sentimental for a moment.”  _

__ _ “Sentimental? Couldn’t be me. Couldn’t be us,” Squid snickered. “Come on, lie down potato boy. Take a load off. Relax.” _

__ _ “The grass’ll stain my shirt,” Techno grumbled, but he took a deep breath- lifting one hand to yank the pony tail out of his hair and let it fall free before he laid down anyways. _

__ _ “...I do think you’re like Icarus, you know,” Squid murmured after Techno had settled down, both of them staring up at the sky, the setting sun and the faint pinpricks of stars beginning to grow visible. “Don’ know ‘bout the falling, but you fly fucking high. Ambitious, you know. Stubborn. Wouldn’t even be surprised if you came to me and told me you had made wings out of whatever materials them people used that melted.”  _

__ _ “Careful Squid, that was almost a compliment,” Techno drawled, linking his fingers with one another and resting his palms on his stomach, squinting up at the orange, red, pink; the sun. For a second he let himself imagine what it would be like if that world had worked the way the Greek’s imagined- if one could really fly so high the wax on their wings would melt.  _

__ _ “Well…’Icarus flew too high, but at least he flew’,” Techno quoted solemnly. The breeze whispered softly. “I...admire Icarus, actually. He was a fool, but- braver than most Greek heroes, I think. Saw freedom and ran for it. Dared. And he died blazing.”  _

__ _ “...poetic idiot,” Squid grumbled; quiet, like their voices were matching the volume of the still night. There was no heat in his words. “You and him are the same- never take the safe option. You’re gonna lose this war.”  _

__ _ “In your dreams, potato boy,” Techno laughed, oddly warmed by his friend returning the personal language of metaphors and greek myths that Techno himself often used to speak about the world. It was nice to not be the only one lamenting in riddles and references.  _

__ _ He closed his eyes as they fell fully into silence, both tired of speaking. Tomorrow, they would go back to being competitive. Squid would return to his island and Techno would go back to farming. But for now, they could just be friends, lying in the grass, no work or challenge in sight.  _

__ _ The peaceful atmosphere brought with it the gentle hand of sleep, settling over Techno’s body with a tired weight, its fingers pressing his eyes closed.  _

__ _ “...’night Icarus,” He heard Squid mumble sleepily, a yawn cutting his words.  _

__ _ “Mm,” Techno murmured back unintelligibly. _

_ He let exhaustion and the calm of the night take him away, high into the sky of dreams.  _

  
  
  


The cave the Syndicate had settled in was small, but surprisingly dry. They’d forgone simply waiting out in the forest after the third spider in an hour had wandered too close for comfort, and each encounter had ended with one of them anxiously stabbing the creature- all too wound up to trust the daytime-pacifistic mob. 

Currently, Niki was asleep- or at least attempting it- curled up off to one side, head pillowed on her crossed arms. Her sword rested beside her, occasionally catching a flicker of sunlight from the dancing leaves outside the cave’s opening. 

Ranboo was similarly quiet; sitting with his back to the stone, legs crossed, staring idly off into space. Here in the gloomy shadows, Phil noticed that his multicolored eyes gave off the faintest hint of hued light, leaving his face oddly illuminated. 

Phil himself was tired. Frustrated. A part of him wished so badly to take after Niki, to roll over and curl up and sleep. He’d grown soft, his mind whispered. Too used to long days in L’manberg left to his own devices, and then the timeless hours in the Arctic with Techno, where it didn’t  _ matter _ when they slept or were awake or how often they did those things. 

The compass rested beside him on the stone floor, and he glanced at it every few seconds. 

It still pointed North. 

Phil let out a groan, sagging back against the wall of the cave, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. His hat had been tossed aside and his pony tail was long coming loose, leaving short strands of hair to fall into his eyes or get caught in the sides of his mouth. 

Phil brushed them away with a mix of aggravation and forlornness. 

He could feel Ranboo’s concerned gaze without even looking up, and in a way that made Phil feel worse. He ought to be holding it together far better, putting on a strong front for his younger companions. In fact, he felt a  _ duty _ to. 

_ That’s what happens when you’re a father for twenty four years, _ his mind unhelpfully whispered, and Phil’s heart clenched. 

Footsteps shuffled, deafening in the quiet, and Phil felt someone settle beside him, close enough to feel their body heat through his sleeve. A shoulder bumped his. 

“Are you...okay?” Ranboo asked tentatively, in a way that made it clear neither of them actually thought he was anywhere even close to ‘okay’. 

“...nah mate,” Phil chuckled. Dry and humorless. He nudged Ranboo’s shoulder back gently. “What about you? You’ve been...particularly…’endery.’ Lately.”

“Yeah, um…” Phil watched Ranboo glance to the side, avoiding eye contact. A coal colored hand idly fiddled with the cuff of his suit jacket. “I’m not sure what’s up with that, honestly.” 

“High emotions, maybe,” Phil murmured, letting his eyes trail across the cave to Niki’s slumbering form for a moment. She sniffled lightly in her sleep, a tiny strand of pink hair dancing around her nose. “Stress.”

“Maybe,” Ranboo agreed in a hushed tone, sounding slightly doubtful, slightly concerned. “I…well, nevermind.” 

“You can talk to me, mate,” Phil reassured quietly, shifting his attention back to the taller teen at his side. He cleared his throat slightly, then nudged his elbow very gently into Ranboo’s arm, trying for a reassuring gesture. “Especially if it’s about hybrid things. My best friend’s one, after all.” 

“Right, right...piglin…” Ranboo murmured, gaze going distant for a moment- the slits of pupils in his eyes softening to an almost ordinary human ellipse for a brief moment before he refocused, green and red irises returning to their more cat-like appearance. “Does he...well, does Techno ever- lose control? Of that sort of piglin side?” 

Phil paused for a moment, the words washing over him and leaving something sad and heavy churning in his gut, a sudden realization. Oh.  _ Oh. _ He should have known this was the sort of thing spiraling around the ender hybrid’s head. 

“No, Ranboo, it doesn’t work like that,” Phil said gently, making an attempt to soften his voice. “Hybrids don’t- don’t go feral, or anything. Or ‘lose themselves’ to their other side, or whatever is concerning you. Any power is just as controllable as emotions. Which is to say, sometimes totally under control, sometimes instinctive. It’s a skill, to regulate it.”

“Oh.” Ranboo looked down at his hands for a few seconds, a lock of black hair momentarily falling across his cheek to block his colorful eyes from view. “So...so the anger thing, the screaming…”

“It’s just a response to an emotion,” Phil nodded. “Just like how when- well, when I’m angry, I raise my voice. I start swearing more. When you get angry, you get the urge to just wordlessly shriek at people.” 

“That makes sense I guess,” Ranboo’s voice grew more thoughtful than sad as he tipped his chin up once more. “Though I guess it’s more...magical? For me?” 

“Probably,” Phil nodded. “It’s probably why that eye contact thing happened before- in spawn? We were all really stressed. I’ll bet your emotions are higher now than they were in the tundra.”

Ranboo winced, shoulders hunching slightly as he let out a small, tentative chuckle. “...yeah, sorry about that.” 

“No problem mate,” Phil waved his hand dismissively. “I knew eye contact made you uncomfortable, I should’ve looked away.” 

“You think maybe- I could do more, at some point?” Ranboo asked, and his voice brimmed with a kind of quiet, almost hopeful curiosity. The hybrid lifted a snow white hand into the air, twisting his wrist and studying it like a rare specimen. “Techno asked if I could teleport, once. I can’t.” 

“Maybe you could,” Phil hummed, fighting down the reflexive shudder that spread through his body at the mention of Techno’s name. “Don’t enderman usually teleport if they’re in danger? Get hurt, it starts to rain, etcetera...maybe you might spontaneously teleport some time.” 

“I’m not sure which is worse, never being able to teleport or getting in a life threatening situation and  _ maybe _ teleporting,” Ranboo laughed. “I think I’ll stick to levitating small objects, thank you very much. I like my chunks of sod.”

“If you say so,” Phil chuckled, tilting his head back cautiously until it rested against the cool stone. His eyes were heavy, itchy with a desire to sleep. 

They lapsed into a peaceful quietness, and Phil watched calmly, idly, through half lidded eyes as Ranboo fiddled with pebbles on the cave floor; flicking a finger and making the small rocks raise a few inches of the ground in a swirl of purple particles before ‘clinking’ back to the stone with quiet clattering sounds. 

“...you could sleep, you know,” Ranboo said quietly, voice a faint rumble. “I’ll watch the compass. You look um- no offense, but like you need it.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Phil chuckled with heavy sarcasm, but there was no heat. His voice sounded tired even to his own ears, echoing faintly in the enclosed space. 

He took a deep, steadying breath; letting the air fill his lungs, holding it there for a moment before letting it out slowly. 

God he was tired. 

“...wake me the second it moves,” Phil murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. He heard Ranboo’s quiet, affirming hum- heard the scrape of metal as the compass was picked up from beside him. 

Phil trusted Ranboo. 

He took another deep breath and let his head slump over to rest on the teen’s shoulder; let the sound of Ranboo’s pulse echoing rhythmic and strong against his ear lull him into rest. 

\---

Tommy had been so certain that he was never going to ever leave the SMP behind again. He’d been back, for good. 

And yet, now he found himself walking through the forest with the SMP hours behind him- Tubbo quiet and attentive at his side as they made quick, anxious work of travel. 

He’d returned with the potions, and they had decided it was finally time to go. 

Neither of them were certain how far away whatever meeting place Dream had set up was. It could be less than a day's travel, could be more. But they weren’t going to risk being late, not with how far they had come. Not when everything about the situation  _ screamed _ ‘final showdown’. 

_ And their likely death. _

Tommy hated the way his body unconsciously shuddered. He took a tiny shuffling step to the left, a little closer to his friend. Tubbo leaned back towards him as well, and they walked side by side, arms nearly brushing even as silence surrounded them. 

The compass, their guide, was held in Tommy’s palm, pointing them southward. He glanced at it every few seconds as they walked, in case they needed to reorient- (and maybe out of anxiety), but the needle was consistent. South. 

They continued onwards. 

Tubbo was oddly chipper, in a way that screamed nerves and denial. It made something anxious and terrible twist deep into Tommy’s stomach- because even though he knew Tubbo was taking this situation seriously, knew that  _ Tubbo _ knew the danger- it still felt so wildly temerarious.

A part of Tommy wanted to beg. To grab Tubbo by the shoulders and shake him, to plead for his friend to tell him how he really felt. What thoughts were actually running through his mind, that he’d sealed so expertly away and that he refused to let surface. He wanted to implore-  _ Please, please, be honest with me. We maybe only have a day left in this world. _

He didn’t want a last conversation with Tubbo to go to waste. 

The words remained stuck in his throat, and he let Tubbo ramble with his abrupt false lack of concern, and they walked. 

The forest was beautiful in a way Tommy wouldn’t have normally taken the time to admire. A vibrant blend of colors that erupted as winter had begun to creep away. 

Nature had been soured for him. By exile. Even the prettiest of landscapes reminded him of those weeks in the prairie, darting into the nearby birch trees for something, anything to do that was different. It reminded him of grass scratching against his legs and cold nights and how he fumbled to make buildings out of logs with zero experience. 

Tommy fiddled with his sleeves, anxiously tugging at the secure netherite gauntlet over his forearm. He much preferred urban environments. And if he could help it, after this- if there was an after- he was never going to leave the city area of the SMP ever again. 

“Water, big man,” Tubbo suddenly said, startling Tommy out of his thoughts. He raised his eyes to see Tubbo pointing up ahead, through a stretch of oaks. Sure enough, Tommy could see blue. As they neared, as the trees thinned; it unfolded out into a large, expansive stretch of water. Ocean. 

They paused on the bank for a moment, watching the small waves lap against the sand. 

The compass still pointed south. 

“...well, I think we have two options,” Tommy offered, glancing at their surroundings. “Either we go around the water- see over there, the land keeps going- or we make a boat.”

The land did indeed curve around the water- a little to the west, it continued in a large loop off into the distance, around the ocean edge. Directly southward- the most exact path- was across the water, however. 

“Boat time, I suppose,” Tubbo murmured with a small shrug that made the fur of his coat scrunch up around his cheeks and chin like a cloud. “It would probably be faster to make a boat and travel then to go all the way around the land.” 

“Al-” Tommy cut himself off with a yawn. “Alright, Tubbs. Come on, let's build some shit.” 

As he turned away, Tommy saw Tubbo crack a smile in his peripherals. 

  
  
  


It was slow going. Neither of them were super experienced with making boats, and even if this was a temporary one, only needed for a single trip- it still needed to hold the both of them for the journey that went at minimum just past the horizon. 

Tommy offered a silent apology to the immediate area as they felled trees, clumsily cutting them up into vaguely board-like shapes. It was exhausting work, that made Tommy’s eyes burn with the reminder he hadn’t slept in what was getting close to 36 hours. But he was a bloody stubborn man. 

Tommy fitted the boards together into an approximately boat-like shape, sealing them together with wooden pegs while Tubbo sat off to the side, making some sort of sticky, disgusting, tar-like resin out of tree sap and other gross things that he claimed would help make their boat waterproof. Tommy complained the whole time that Tubbo was just getting out of the manual labor- though to be frank, Tommy would much rather be working with the axe then getting his fingers covered in the tree gunk Tubbo was slathering onto the boards. 

The sun was beginning to set by the time their boat was finished. 

They pushed it through the sand and into the water together, side by side; both holding their breath for a second, watching. It floated, and Tommy let a huge, relieved exhale of air flood out of him, like he’d been holding it for hours. Tubbo whooped, punched a fist into the air and launched himself to the side to give Tommy a quick, victorious hug around the middle. 

Tommy smiled faintly and begrudgingly hugged back. 

They clambered into their makeshift row boat, clutching the rather dubious paddles Tubbo had quickly fashioned once they both remembered oars were actually necessary. The sky was alight with color of the warm variety- purples mixed in, stars beginning to peek through the growing darkness far behind them. In front of them, the setting sun made the ocean glow like lava, like liquid gold- the water gleaming yellow and white and orange and black, not a hint of blue in sight. 

Tommy reflexively checked the compass, and it pointed them on ahead. 

Tomorrow was Wednesday. 

_ “Bon voyage _ , big man,” Tubbo said from behind him, and jabbed a finger forwards. “Onwards!” 

Tommy slipped the compass into his pocket, and began to row. 

  
  
  


“Dream.”

_ “Sam, _ oh my god. I thought we settled this.” 

“We didn’t settle anything and you well know that, Dream.”

“I  _ gave _ you my answer.” 

“I’m not taking a no on this.”

Punz groaned softly to himself, burying his face in his hands. He’d been listening to Sam and Dream argue across the room for what was getting dangerously close to half an hour now. The mercenary’s head was beginning to throb, unease crawling through his body each time Dream’s frustration caused the man to raise his voice. 

He wasn’t sure if he wished Sam would just drop it, or if he was amazed Sam was still arguing about this. 

At first, the fight had been entertaining. It had been well and truly interesting, to see Dream’s authority in a war against Sam’s stubbornness. Dream was passionate, loud, emotive, and quick to anger. Sam was calm to the point of coldness, voice unfailingly even, demanding and unmoving. 

It was like seeing an unstoppable force meet an immovable object. 

“Technoblade is  _ dangerous,” _ Dream said, and Punz watched the man whirl around to face Sam- voice very carefully modulated, dripping with mocking patience, fist clenched at his side. “You know that, Sam. This is to keep people safe. To keep  _ you _ safe. No one could go in there if he wasn’t drugged.” 

Dream’s voice twisted from frustration to something softer, almost caring. Gentle. Like a parent explaining something to a child for the tenth time. 

“Don’t try and sweet talk me,” Sam snorted, so dismissive that Punz’s jaw nearly dropped for a moment. “I know you don’t care about my safety, and frankly, I don’t care about yours unless it falls under my warden job. But  _ part of my job as Warden, _ which you gave me might I add- is to care for my prisoners. And Technoblade cannot continue to be given potions.” 

“I am not risking him somehow getting out!” Dream snapped, all sugar in his voice dissolving back into annoyance. 

“He’s in netherite chains!” Sam shot right back. “Dream we designed this prison to be inescapable. Technoblade  _ isn’t  _ a god, no matter how much you act like he has the capabilities of one. He cannot get himself free of that cell. It is impossible. He doesn’t need to be  _ sedated.” _

“You’ve seen how volatile he is when they wear off!” Dream snarled, whirling away and beginning to pace. “He attacked you, lunged at me- if you think that won’t happen again you’re a fool.” 

“Of course he’s volatile, he’s here against his will,” Sam groaned, throwing his hands out in the first true sign of frustration. “Dream, he has a fever. Right now. Has had one for the last few hours. His body temperature is so high that if he wasn’t part Piglin, he’d be actively dying right now.” 

Now that was news. Punz didn’t know that. And it was obvious Dream didn’t either by the way he paused for a moment- a rare instance of being genuinely surprised. 

_Fever._ _Dying._

Punz’s gut churned uncomfortably as he glanced between Sam and Dream- both breathing sharply from their passionate argument, the silence stretching. 

“This cannot continue,” Sam said softly. His voice shifted, empathy coloring his words. “I will not have my prisoners dying, or unnecessarily suffering under my care. This is a prison, not a torture chamber. Not a place for execution. And if you keep sedating Technoblade, he’s going to die. His body can’t handle this.  _ Noone’s  _ could.”

The Warden bled into Sam’s form in the way his frown twisted into a thin line, his shoulders squaring. His hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword. “I will not allow that, Dream. This is my prison.”

“...we’ll talk about this later,” Dream growled finally, voice low and cold and simmering with dangerous anger. His back was still to Sam, and he did not turn to look at him. “I have more important things to be doing. We can argue about this after tomorrow.” 

“Dream-” Sam began again, coldly- but Dream whirled on him, a snarl twisting his lips. 

“ENOUGH!” 

His voice echoed around the wide, high roofed expanse of their blackstone room like an explosion from a cannon. 

Something caught in Punz’s chest- something that had him with his hand on the handle of his sword before he realized he’d even shifted into a defensive stance. 

“We will discuss this later,” Dream repeated, and his voice was barely audible as he leaned into Sam’s space. “I have a meeting.” 

With angry, booming metallic footsteps, Dream whirled and stormed off towards the nether portal in a swirl of green cloth and clenched fists and glowing netherite. 

The ‘vwoop’ of the portal, and then silence. 

“...holy shit,” Punz breathed, slowly loosening his white knuckled hand, prying his still fingers from his sheath. “That was- I’ve never seen him that mad before.” 

“I don’t think he particularly likes his authority challenged. Or being told he’s  _ wrong,” _ Sam replied, voice bleeding sarcasm alongside his cold, quietly angry tone. “I’m going to go check on Technoblade.” 

Punz’s gaze remained fixed on the slow, alluring swirling of the portal even as pistons shifted behind him and Sam’s footsteps faded away into the bowels of Pandora’s Vault. 

Doomsday- the Fall of L’manberg- kept playing over and over in his head. 

  
_ “I’m a person, Tommy.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale starts tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen. 
> 
> Sic semper tyrannis.
> 
> (I'm realizing how misleading I made this sound LMAOOO. I mean in-world tomorrow and 'finale' in terms of the events of the Season 2 Finale in canon. Probs not the last chapter)


End file.
